The Inheritance of Man: First Contact
by DanishCookie
Summary: Relay 314 has been opened - the first in many hundreds of years, marking the dawn of a new age. The Council hadn't anticipated to find much; dust on the solar wind, or perhaps even a habitable world or two. They expected to find peace - hoped for it, really. But it wasn't to be so. The Council found humanity split. They found a civil war. AU First Contact
1. Prelude: Chapter One - Embrace Eternity

**_Prelude_**

 _First Contact goes unwell..._

* * *

Space was a veritably unknown quality of life. Thousands upon thousands of stars, each with its own story, and perhaps its own retinue. Yet, despite the thousands of years that the asari peoples had spent traveling, charting and _knowing_ the astral void, there was still so much to be learned, so much to be uncovered, and so much that was not yet _known_.

It was humbling, to be quite honest, and Arysa T'Remi, captain of the _Talessia_ , took full flight to her species' maxim – embrace the unknown.

Embrace _eternity_.

The _Talessia_ itself was a small vessel, fit for research and exploration. Such a small vessel, of only a mere hundred meters in length, begat a similarly small crew. Two, four, _six_ lives on her ship, ready to jump the void, and chart unseen worlds. Two asari, two salarians, and two turians. The Attican Traverse, a section of the galaxy long-held to be unknown, wild, was waiting for them.

A few months before, a volus survey team was scouting out systems at the edge of known space, looking for rich worlds to mine and healthy planets to colonize. A simple, modest scouting mission that had taken a rather strange turn when the volus happened upon an untouched Mass Relay. Finding relays was one thing, but ones that had never been activated? Exciting, to be sure, but dangerous, as well.

Typical Council procedure dictated that newly discovered relays were to be left alone, until a research team could trace the vector of the relay, and find where exactly it led. After all, no one wanted another Rachni War, and with the vast expanse of space, there was absolutely no telling what lay in wait out there.

Fortunately enough, the Council research team had found nothing wrong with the relay – no flesh-hungry race of abhorrent creatures waiting for them. Scans and probes had showed them that the relay simply led to a rather boring system, with no more than four planets – none of them garden worlds, either. Yet, the relay itself piqued interest from all over the galaxy.

The Attican Traverse was a section of space untouched by any civilized species. Certainly not for a lack of trying, as the Council had sent many a probe through. It had simply been a matter that _no_ relay had been discovered as of yet, that led into the Traverse.

Until now, of course, Arysa reminded herself. The Council had recently greenlit an effort to scout and survey the systems beyond the Traverse.

And Arysa T'Remi was at the helm.

She paced back and forth on the bridge, trying her best not to let sheer excitement show through her movements. Back and forth, side to side – her shoes clicked upon the sterile floor. One of her crew, a salarian, gazed at her, concern and confusion held within his eyes.

"Arysa?" he asked, tilting his head. The salarian's bulbous eyes shone black, yet emanated worry for her. "Are you alright?"

Arysa T'Remi let loose a small chuckle, shaking her head. She looked at the salarian, smiling. "I'm fine, Taelon. You worry too much."

Taelon, frowned – he clearly didn't buy it. "Are you sure? Maybe I should ask Caelia if she put too much in your _tava_ – or worse," he looked away, grimacing. "She put dextro ingredients in it by mistake."

This time, Arysa laughed out loud, wringing her hands. "Don't worry, Taelon. She isn't _that_ forgetful. I'm just… _excited_." She gazed to the side, her eyes landing upon the ship's pilot. "Pontius, tell me you're not excited? A new relay, a whole new part of the _galaxy_ , to explore."

Pontius was a turian of few words. "I'm just as excited, Arysa. Just got word from Paell in engineering. Our drive core's clean, the _Talessia_ 's good to go." He looked up at Arysa, his mandibles wavering. "Just say the word."

Arysa nodded, taking a deep breath. She should be calm, she knew. The Council was depending on her, and damned if she wouldn't do a good job.

"So, team," Arysa began, gazing forwards. A green light flicked on in the corner of the viewport, signaling that she was transmitting through the ship. "Hundreds of stars lay in wait beyond that relay – thousands of worlds. Maybe some of them are even fit for colonization." She took a second to let it all set in. "And, maybe a whole 'nother species out there, fit to join us in the stars. And we'll be the first to meet them. Is everyone ready?"

A radio clicked on, a voice crackling through. " _Caelia in medical here, I'm good to go_."

" _Paell, engineering. We're green_."

" _Niana Shyria – I'll let you know if Paell makes any mistakes_."

Arysa giggled as Paell, the other salarian onboard, made a noise of general indignation. Beside her, Taelon and Pontius smiled at Arysa, nodding their heads.

"We're good to go," Taelon said. "On your word, Arysa."

Arysa T'Remi looked forwards, steeling herself. After a moment of silence, she crossed her arms, nodding. "Good. Pontius, take us in."

The turian pilot nodded, his talons flying across the displays in front of him. "Roger. Prepping the engines, I'm taking her in."

Arysa felt the research vessel rock smoothly, a slight bump as they began to move towards the relay. She smiled, her heart bursting with excitement. As a maiden, she may have been jumping in anticipation, but she did have to keep up her reputation as a matron.

"Relay's responding. Destination is clear – calculating transmit mass and destination."

Taelon fidgeted in his seat, yet Pontius was as stoic as a rock – they were her team, and they were among the best. Arysa was sure they'd do their job well.

"Relay is hot. Acquiring approach vector."

This was it – Arysa steeled herself, placing her hands upon a railing in front of her. Outside the viewport, the relay increased in size. Its blue core glowed with a warm sheen, the rings spinning faster and faster as the _Talessia_ approached. Then, as the ship neared, an electric tendril of energy grasped the research vessel.

With a sudden jolt, the _Talessia_ burst forwards in a jet of blue light and a loud _crack_. Arysa's eyes widened, and she felt her nerves flowing with warm excitement. Then, just as soon as it had begun, the ship slowed down.

 _They had arrived_. With a gasp, Arysa took in the sight of the new system before her.

She could see four planets in total, orbiting a white dwarf star. The first was a small rock, red and glowing. Possibly a molten world – she wouldn't be surprised, considering its close proximity to the star. Another planet was much farther away, and a clean white – it looked to be an arctic world. Interesting!

The remaining two planets were gas giants, one very close to the _Talessia_ as it drifted through space. Nearby, a few asteroids floated through the void, cracked and ragged.

"Arysa," a voice called from before her, and the asari matron turned to Taelon. "Orders?" The salarian gave a small, confident smile.

Arysa nodded, reminding herself that she had a job to do. "Right. Pontius, keep us drifting, and keep those engines hot. We need to be ready for anything." The matron gave Taelon a quick wink. "Taelon, love, I'm going to need you to send out some probes, get a detailed scan of the system. Prioritize the planets and their satellites."

Her respective crewmembers nodded, carrying out their orders. Arysa smiled, her heart just beginning to slow down in her chest. She queued up her comms, connecting to the engineering bay.

"Paella! Niana! Is the reactor okay? How're we doing in engineering?"

" _We're good, skip,_ " Niana's melodic voice came through the line. " _Very good, in fact, considering this is the first time that relay's been used._ "

Arysa nodded, closing her eyes in relief. Things seemed to be going well, and she couldn't wait to have the entire system surveyed.

"Probes have been launched," Taelon mentioned, his hands dancing across his board. "Scans are in place – not finding anything yet."

"Thank you, Taelon," Arysa commended the salarian. "Let me know if anything comes up."

He gave a nod. "Will do, Arysa – wait a second?"

Taelon's startled gasp caught her attention, and Arysa turned to him. "Taelon? What's wrong?"

The salarian didn't answer for a few seconds, and even Pontius had taken to staring at him. "I – I don't know. This… this doesn't seem right."

"What is it?" Arysa asked, apprehension beginning to clutch at her chest. "Talk to us here. What's wrong?"

"I don't know! Scans are coming back – gravity levels don't seem right. Radiation is spiking – two thousand meters from our starboard!"

Arysa felt shock ripple through her body, and she looked out the viewport. There was the hint of an odd sheen, a disturbance in space – much like the waves one might see in the air, on a hot summer day. Her eyes widened, her nerves screaming out ' _danger! Danger!'_

"Pontius!" Arysa cried out, grasping a tight hold on the railing in front of her. "Prep FTL, just in case! Taelon, keep an eye on that anomaly, don't –"

She couldn't finish her sentence, before a sharp crack rippled through space. The _Talessia_ was hit by a shockwave, its structure groaning in protest as its occupants were thrown from their places. Lights aboard the research vessel flickered, various loose objects flying through the air.

Arysa groaned and pushed herself up from the floor. She staggered for an instant, before regaining her composure. "S-status! Is everyone okay?"

It took a few moments, but the matron felt relief when her crewmember's voices reached her ears, complaining of minor injuries, but nothing more. Arysa stood up, grasping at her hips, but fear and shock rushed through her when she took a glance out the _Talessia_ 's viewport.

Several large objects were drifting through the space naught but a couple of kilometers from the _Talessia_ 's position. No, not objects – _ships_. Strange ships, kinds that she had never seen before.

 _Alien_ ships.

They were grey, utilitarian, with shades of orange haphazardly painted on sections of the hull – definitely not kind to the eye. A couple of them were quite large, relative to the _Talessia_ – comparable to the size of a cruiser, if not a small one. Three others were smaller, ranging from the size of a civilian corvette, to a frigate. Five ships in total – five ships that shot fear through Arysa's heart.

The barrels and turrets of weapons could be seen all over their hulls – military ships, ready for battle and, possibly, war. Arysa caught herself not breathing, and she gasped, surprise still tangible within her voice.

"What… what is that?" Taelon asked. Beside him, Pontius was leaning back in his chair, his avian eyes wide with apprehension. "I've never seen ships like those before."

"Pontius," Arysa began, breathing deep. "How… how's our FTL drive doing?"

The turian jolted into action, his talons quickly getting to work on his display. He was silent for a few moments, before his shoulders slacked, his mandibles spreading in anxiety.

"It doesn't look good, Arysa," Pontius sighed, his flanged voice wavering. "They – they must have taken a hit. Same with the engines. They'll need some repairs."

Arysa didn't take her eyes off of the grey ships before them, taking Pontius' words into account. "How… how long?"

"… Maybe a few hours. I don't know."

Arysa closed her eyes, frowning. "Those are hours we don't have. We're stranded."

It was the unfortunate truth. She took a few moments to take in the situation, and breathe in reality. This was first contact, and Arysa was afraid she was woefully unprepared. Coming to a decision, she opened her eyes again. She knew she needed to steel herself, if she was to get her crew out of this situation.

"Taelon," Arysa began, determination setting within her. "Prepare a message for those vessels. Wire a transmission – we're here in peace, and we don't mean any harm."

The bridge was silent for a few moments as Taelon prepared the message. "Transmission sent. Hopefully… hopefully they don't just blast us out of space."

Arysa frowned – it was awfully uncharacteristic of Taelon. He was usually the optimist among them all – him and Caelia, their medical officer. Which reminded her – she needed to bring the others to the bridge. Tapping into their comms, Arysa connected to the crew quarters and the engineering bay.

"Caelia, Niana, Paell – do you read?"

" _I'm here, Arysa,_ " Caelia's smooth flanged voice came through the line. " _What do you need?_ "

"All three of you, come to the bridge," Arysa responded. "Just get here as quick as you can."

Arysa didn't bother to wait for an answer, instead turning back to the grey giants in front of the _Talessia_. They were still drifting through space, stoic as they were. Arysa had no idea what would happen – and she feared the worst.

Moments later, the door to the bridge slid open, and a slim, tall turian walked through. She was soon followed by two others – an asari, her blue face marked by sweat, and another salarian.

"Arysa, what happened?" Caelia asked, coming to a stop beside her captain. Arysa didn't bother to respond, instead pointing out the viewport. "Are… are those ships?"

Arysa nodded, herself coming to terms with their situation. Nearby, a blip appeared on Taelon's display.

"Arysa!" he called out, looking back. "I've got a response from one of the ships."

"Play it," she responded simply.

Taelon did so, his hands flying across the holographic display. A green light appeared, indicating that a transmission was about to play.

" _Unknown vessel, this is the CLF_ Opportunity. _Stand down, and prepare to be boarded_ _._ "

"What – what did they say?" Niana asked, though she full well knew that no one had any idea. Arysa shook her head, her eyes glued to the ships before them. Their voices were so strange, yet so familiar – so akin to the asari language, yet incredibly exotic.

Several bursts of light caught her attention, and Arysa watched as four pod-like objects were jettisoned from the largest of the five vessels – headed straight for the _Talessia_. With sullen resignation, Arysa had an idea what the alien message meant.

"They're going to board us," she explained. "Taelon, prepare an emergency message back to the Council. Potentially hostile aliens past Relay 314. Unable to escape."

Taelon's fingers dashed across his board for a few seconds, before he spoke again. "Message sent. Any other orders, Arysa?" His voice was similarly resigned, sullen.

"No," she responded simply. There was nothing to it. "Now, we wait."

* * *

Some minutes later, they began to hear clanking sounds upon the hull of the _Talessia_. Its crew had gathered together, sitting silently upon the floor and the few chairs on the bridge. Arysa could hear shouts, yells – again, in that strange, foreign language. What sounded like armored boots clattered towards them, metal clapping and clacking. Then, the door to the bridge slid open, and Arysa looked up – looked at their potential captors.

They were armored, obvious firearms in their hands. Yet, Arysa noted with a surge of shock and surprise, that their figures, their bodies – they looked so much like _asari_! Of course, the plates and pieces that covered their figures, the closed-faced helmets that concealed their features, blocked any sight of what they looked like underneath, but there was little left to the imagination.

And the plates, the armor – Arysa gazed at them with confusion. They were rusted, some pieces jagged and broken. It was atypical of regular militaries, and Arysa could only wonder if they had been happened upon, not by the navy of a sovereign state, but perhaps pirates or raiders instead.

She wasn't sure which option appealed to her more. Neither did, really.

Lost in her thoughts, Arysa hadn't noticed that one of the aliens had approached her, shoving the muzzle of a firearm in her face as it shouted, yelled.

" _On the ground, hands where I can see them!_ " it shouted at her, shoving Arysa from her chair. On her knees, the matron raised her hands in the galactic symbol of surrender, watching as her friends, her crew, were treated similarly. The alien pointed at her, and then at the floor. " _Don't you dare move! Stay right there._ "

Arysa could only wonder what they wanted, but she figured that moving was probably undesired. The alien kept her at gunpoint for a few moments, and she watched as one of the aliens went around her crew, slapping what looked to be holographic cuffs around their wrists.

This was it, she surmised. They were being taken prisoner, shipped off to some unknown place. She could only pray they'd be alive by the end of it.

* * *

Arysa felt a kick upon her back, and fell to her knees. She and her crew had been brought, by some manner of dropship, to one of the alien ships. Their insides were as utilitarian as their external features – gunmetal grey walls, and aggressively sharp white lights. Scores of the aliens, dressed in slim orange and green uniforms, had watched as Arysa's crew were escorted through the halls of the vessel.

By the goddess, they were so similar to asari! Hands with five digits, the facial structure, the legs – it boggled Arysa's mind, how akin they were to her own species. Yet, she hadn't much time to ponder the fact. They had stopped in what she assumed was the ship's bridge, blue displays and holograms neatly laid out across the room.

An alien, presumably male, stood before her, two guards at his sides. His hair was short and cropped, his clothing a mixture of strange, smooth materials. Whoever he was, he certainly didn't _look_ military – though, who knew what the aesthetics of these aliens could be?

Arysa's crew were with her, also on their knees as they were presented before the alien. She surmised that he was their leader, or something of the sort. The alien gazed curiously at them, a hard stare in his eyes.

" _These are the aliens?_ " it spoke, glancing back up at their captors. Behind Arysa, one of them nodded.

" _Yeah. Didnae find any others,_ " it replied, tapping the back of Arysa's head. " _They dinnae look like much. Probably just civilians, or something._ "

The leader shook its head. " _No. Scientists. Signis II's moon is gone – one of those tuning gates is in its place."_ Crouching, the alien smiled at Arysa – a strange grin that sent shivers up her back. " _Asari. Turian. Salarian. Never actually seen any of them before – just word from command,_ " he said, pointing at each captive.

Arysa's eyes widened, and she glanced to the side to see that Taelon and the others were similarly surprised. Had the alien just spoken their species' names? How did it know what they were?

The one behind Arysa's crew spoke again, his voice even more aggressive. " _Gerard, we need to decide what we're gonna do with the wee bastards. We can't afford to keep them fed and held prisoner. Our men are going hungry enough as it is."_

" _I brought us to the Signis system for a reason, MacGregor. The CLF has a safehouse on Signis IV – food, weapons. We can make repairs here._ "

"MacGregor" groaned, presumably in frustration and anger. " _Damnit, Gerard, the Republic is_ chasing _us, and knowing those fascist cunts, they won't be letting up anytime soon. We dinnae have the time!_ "

Arysa watched, silently, as the two aliens argued back and forth. She had no idea what they were talking about, but whatever it was, they grew more and more incensed.

" _MacGregor, we're still hundreds of light years from CLF space. We need to resupply, or we'll surely die out here anyways._ " Gerard said – his voice was strangely even, while his compatriot shouted in anger.

" _We already had to jettison the goods we stole, and we executed those damn traders._ " MacGregor stepped around Arysa and her crew, pointing a finger at the other alien. " _And now you're saying we need to keep these fucking aliens with us? Have you gone mad, Gerard?_ "

" _No. I'm saying that we'll resupply, and bring those aliens down to the surface with us,_ " the alien leader spoke, shaking its head. " _And when the time comes, we'll decide whether we leave them for dead, or we kill them ourselves. A few scientists isn't worth the effort."_

"Gerard" stared down at Arysa, his grey eyes fixated upon her own. His gaze was cold, icy, and Arysa couldn't help but shiver with fear.

Whatever the aliens were planning, it couldn't have been good.

* * *

Arysa shivered, clasping her arms around herself. She and her team had been brought down to the surface of the planet, stuffed in a cell deep within an alien base. She hadn't seen much of the world itself – not that she would have liked to – but, from what she could tell, it was a cold planet. Arctic, icy – frigid winds blew in from the halls. The cold, utilitarian nature of the cells themselves didn't help matters.

Outside the rusting bars of the cell, a few alien guards patrolled the halls. Arysa could only wonder about their technology – it seemed ancient, obsolete. Yet, she had a niggling feeling that their equipment, as primeval as it seemed, was hiding something.

Unfortunately enough, the aliens had taken their omni-tools. Arysa didn't know how they knew how to find the omni-tools, or what they were, but that was in the past. Now, without their personal wrist-bound computers, Arysa felt strangely naked. Incapable.

The cells weren't large – barely more than a few paces wide and long. The walls were an offensive grey, the bricks cracked and muddy. Arysa's team had been separated into two cells, thrown into them like varren in a kennel. The aliens seemed not to have any respect for her or her friends – neither did she know what they had in store for her, but it was not as if Arysa could do anything about it.

She was never trained in combat, or combat biotics – by the Goddess, she was an explorer! Perhaps Pontius or Caelia had some military training, from their days in the turian military, but in the end, none of them were armed anyways. So, it was a simple matter of waiting – perhaps the Council would respond quickly to the emergency message they had sent.

Or, perhaps, they would rather avoid another Rachni War and forget about them entirely. Close the relay, shutter passage to and from.

Arysa shook her head, not wanting to think of the worst. To her side, Taelon shivered, and Arysa wrapped an arm around the salarian.

"You alright, Taelon?" she asked, her own voice chattering. Arysa worked hard to keep the fear out of her voice, but she couldn't tell how well it was working. "We're here for you."

He nodded in thanks, while Caelia gazed at the two of them from the opposite side of the cell. "I – I'm fine," Taelon tried to reassure her, raising a hand to clutch Arysa's own. "Well, actually, I'd be lying if I said that. No, I'm not really fine. But, hey, we'll be alright. Right?"

Arysa hummed her affirmation, though she wasn't sure she believed it herself. "Yep. We sure will."

Taelon didn't respond, simply electing to hold Arysa's hand. She figured he was even colder than she or Caelia was – salarians were cold-blooded, after all. Goddess, he must be _freezing_.

Caelia had her knees raised and pressed against her stomach. "Spirits, how long has it been? I feel like I've been counting for _hours_."

Arysa shook her head. "No idea. No way to tell, either." She looked down, her eyes gazing at the cracked surface of the cement floor. "Well, here's to not getting hypothermia. Hopefully?"

They were silent at that – Arysa couldn't blame them. They were all dealing with their own nerves, she supposed, and not everyone could be as upbeat as Taelon. Not even Taelon himself, she surmised. Arysa took a quick glance at her close friend – he looked miserable, a grim frown stretched across his features as he moped and slumped.

Outside the cell, a couple of guards passed by, clutching their strange-looking firearms. They were speaking, and though Arysa couldn't understand them, she leaned towards them anyways – if only to hear more of their strange, asari-like language.

" _What do you think Gerard's gonna do with the aliens?_ "

" _No idea. Not like we have the supplies to hold 'em. Colonel MacGregor didn't seem too happy, though._ "

" _Course not. Don't think he likes Grayson. No one does. Motherfucker's as slippery as a snake._ "

"… _think the Republic's gonna find us here?_ "

" _Hope not. We'll be fucked if they do get us down here. Tellin' you, some Echo Base shit around here. Gives me the willies._ "

" _Damn. I knew you were into ancient shit, Ming, but Space Wars? Shit's as ancient as Old Man Reina._ "

" _Star Wars, dumbass, and come on. The Admiral's not_ that _old –_ "

Arysa jumped in shock, a loud metal crash sounding from somewhere out in the hall. Another voice shouted, and though she couldn't understand what it was saying, she could practically feel the sense of urgency in it.

" _Ming! Adams! Get your pieces ready, and follow me! The Republic's arrived!_ "

The guards looked at each other, though their expressions were hidden by their masks, before turning back down the hall. " _The Republic's here? What about Grayson? The_ Opportunity _?_ "

" _Graysons' gone – asshole ran away, left us to die. The rest of our ships got their asses kicked. Come on, we don't have a lot of time!_ "

The two aliens made to move, but one looked to the side, its eyes landing upon Arysa's cell. It looked back, between Arysa and the hall, until shaking its head.

" _Leave the aliens. We'll get to them later. Or the Republic will. Let's move!_ "

With clattering of boots, the guards left the confinement hall. Arysa watched them leave, curious as to what was happening. Whatever it was, they seemed urgent, and Arysa couldn't help but let a tinge of fear shoot through her.

"Wonder what that was about," Caelia said, glancing at Arysa.

Arysa shook her head. "No idea. Whatever it was, it's got them worried. And we've lost our guards."

"You think we can try and escape?" Caelia stood up, grunting as she stretched her legs. She walked to the metal doors, grasping ahold of a bar, but her mandibles flared. "No, what am I saying. Rusted as they are, these doors are pretty strong. No getting through them."

They lapsed back into silence, quiet murmurs audible from the other cell. Arysa wondered how Niana, Paell, and Pontius were doing. Perhaps, had they still had their omni-tools, the engineers could have done something to escape, but that was out of reach now.

Arysa's thoughts were interrupted, when a low rumble shook the walls. Startled, Arysa, looked up, before another rumble rolled through the cells. Dust fell from the ceiling, and the dim lights in the hall swayed from side to side. She stood up, Taelon rising with her, before joining Caelia at the cell door.

"Something's happening," Arysa mumbled, watching the lights in the hall flicker. She could hear several more rumbles, the ground beneath them shaking. "Earthquake?"

Beside her, Caelia hummed in disagreement. "No. Not an earthquake. This is familiar." Her mandibles stretched out, showing her perturbation. "Impacts. Something like… artillery, maybe."

As she spoke, several cracks echoed from the halls, sounding far off. They accompanied the rumbles, which had also grown in frequency, and Arysa could faintly recognize the sounds – the macabre drum of firearms, ringing in the distance. Yet, they were steadily growing closer and closer, louder and louder, and the back of Arysa's head became cold with anxiety.

Caelia glanced at Arysa, seemingly reading her mind. "Guns, too. Whatever's happening out there… it's not good."

As if on cue, the lights in the hall flickered, and one sparked, before exploding in a brilliant hail of electricity. In rapid succession, the dim lights shut off, before the prison cell was left completely in the dark.

Arysa could hear screams nearby, echoing through the hallway, as well as the continuous cracking of gunshots. They were growing incredibly close – as if they were just outside the containment hall.

Without warning, a loud buzz rang from above them, and the cell door in front of them slid open with a crash. Arysa jumped, fear pulsing through her veins, before she realized what had happened.

"Doors are open," she gasped, taking a step back. "Do you… do you guys think we should run?"

Taelon's eyes were wide in terror. Arysa felt pity for the young salarian – she didn't think he had ever expected this much out of an exploration mission.

"But – but where would we go?" Taelon stuttered out, shaking profusely. "We're stuck here, where would we run?"

Arysa realized she hadn't an answer to that, but before she could think of a response three figures appeared in their cell doorway. Arysa yelped in fear, taking a few steps back, but the face of a turian poked through.

"Come on," Pontius said, holding out a hand. "Let's go, we need to move!" There was an explicit sense of urgency in the turian's flanged voice, and Arysa couldn't help but follow him.

"Wait!" Caelia warned, shaking her head. "Taelon's right – where would we go?"

Pontius continued to beckon them forwards, Niana and Paell at his side. "Our ship's down here with us – the aliens must have brought it down." He looked down the hall, watching for any movement. "We've got to try and get to it – maybe we can escape!"

There were doors at either end of the hall, but the sounds of gunshots and screams were echoing from the right. Turning left, Pontius began to run down the hall, Arysa and her crew hot on his heels. They hadn't run far when a loud crash smashed the door behind them, followed by several gunshots. Arysa didn't look back, for fear of what would happen, but she could hear alien voices, shouting down the hall. They were almost robotic, in nature, metallic voices that sounded so unlike those she had heard earlier.

" _There, more of them! Down the hall! Rook, Black, after them!_ "

Fear shot through Arysa's heart, and she could hear the sounds of steel boots banging against the floor. The aliens were chasing her!

Arysa pumped her legs harder and harder, desperate and terrified. She could hear the aliens getting closer, yet the door was so far! The matron could not help but feel tears streaking down her cheeks.

Suddenly, a jet of pain rippled through Arysa's foot, and she fell with a frightened yelp. The others stopped, looking back with horror etched across their features, but before Arysa could wave them off, she felt a hard weight fall upon her. Arysa screamed, pain shooting through her body, and she scrunched her eyes closed.

When she opened them a moment later, Arysa found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. A black visor stared back at her silently. Above them, two other aliens figures were holding her friends at gunpoint, wearing armor and helmets akin to that of the alien upon her.

"… _The hell?_ " the alien upon her mumbled, tilting its head. Arysa didn't think – panic rushed through her body, and instinct took over as she slammed her hands upon the side of the alien's head. Her vision went black, until she couldn't see anything but the visor before her, and though she could not hear anything, Arysa felt her mouths mumble a low phrase.

" _Embrace Eternity._ "

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, all. Welcome back to _The Inheritance of Man_. Well, the rebooted version of it.**

 **I began the original more than a year and a half ago, but had left it dry some chapters in - at the time, I had simply become busy with school, and had planned to come back to it, but as I began college, my mind began to wander towards other ventures. I became bored with the original story, and thought it too low for my own high standards.**

 **Now, more than a year and a half later, I've come back to _The Inheritance of Man_. It's a lot different, however - I've changed many things, and the overall themes, direction, and characters of the story are different - in my own opinion, they are better this way.**

 **I want to give my good friend Archangel1207 my thanks - he's stuck with me all this time, and we've exchanged many notes, and given each other our thoughts on our respective stories.**

 **Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter. I won't give any details on when the next will be published, but it won't be too long. I've already begun work on it.**

 **As always, feel free to leave a review, let me know what you think. I cherish your thoughts.**

 **DanishCookie, signing off.**


	2. Prelude: Chapter Two - Raid

_Carthago Delenda Est._

Carthage must be destroyed.

Of course, Carthage was gone – long gone. More than two millennia ago, yet in those two thousand years since, humanity had come so far. From riding upon horseback and elephant, and fighting with shield and sword, to the far reaches of space itself, upon vessels that sailed the stars. Some might say that the human race now lived in a Golden Age – a time of science, and technology, and the expansion of human boundaries.

And it was all the work of the United Earth Republic. Honor, duty, valiance – it was all expected of humanity under the wings of the Republic's Eagle. United, humanity had found its inheritance within the stars.

Yet, like the Roman Republic before it, the United Earth Republic had a Carthage – those who would oppose the Republic's great rule, and bring humanity back down. The Colonial Liberation Front – "insurgents," many called them. Nothing but rebels, of a motley of disgruntled farmers and anarchists. And like the old Phoenicians of Carthage, the insurgents would be destroyed.

Well, that was what the Republic told him. Marcus Shepard didn't know what to think of their words. Of course, there were some truths to them, yet also some falsehoods.

They would tell him that the insurgents were terrorists, nothing more than dust riding upon the saddle of a great steed. They would tell him that hundreds of thousands had died, in the wake of the selfish actions of mere farmers.

Yet, Marcus knew that wasn't entirely correct. Farmers couldn't fight a superpower, after all. No – he himself knew that some within the insurgents' ranks were formerly of Republic blood. Old generals, begrudged admirals, and downtrodden soldiers, bereft of gratitude. The Republic hadn't always been as caring of its own.

Yet, as doubtful as he was about the words the Republic would feed him, Marcus Shepard was loyal to his nation, and to his people. For all the fattened words he heard, he knew the Republic _had_ led humanity to the stars and, in the face of the galaxy as they did not know it, unity was the answer.

Indeed, Marcus could not reject the evidence held before him – the attempted asteroid attack at Fenix. The nuclear bomb, detonated upon civilians and _children_ on Cornucopia. The destruction of the space-elevator at Arcadia. They had all been carried out by the Colonial Liberation Front – a movement to bring supposed freedom to the colonies.

And now, most recently, the insurgents had attacked civilian traders – stolen their goods, and left their bodies to float through the void. For all the dominion the UER held over humanity, and for all the good the Liberation Front might propose… Marcus Shepard would side with the lesser of two evils. If it would bring peace and prosperity to his family… then so be it.

And now, as captain of the RNS _Crusader_ , Marcus was on the hunt. Five insurgent vessels, that had killed Republic citizens and stolen valuable food and supplies. Their leaders, a man by the name of Gerard Grayson, and Josie MacGregor. A former comrade of Marcus – a former friend. Perhaps still a good man.

The _Crusader_ was a powerful vessel – a Hastings-class heavy cruiser, built for war. A little over a thousand meters long, and three hundred meters wide, the cruiser itself was an older model, being slowly replaced by the newer, larger Courage-class cruisers. Yet, with three spinal-mounted magnetic cannons, and two hundred broadside guns, the Hastings-class could still fight for the title of _Alpha_.

Marcus' thoughts drifted towards the hunt, and his prey – Colonel Josie MacGregor had been a good friend of his once. It made his task so much harder, yet Marcus could not let sympathy cloud his judgement. The Colonel, and Grayson, had raided a Republic trade flotilla with several warships – two destroyers, both of the older Lancaster-class, and three near-obsolete corvettes.

Well, obsolete compared to the Republic's current line. It was no secret that the Colonial Liberation Front was strapped for money, and had resorted to guerrilla warfare. Yet, to kill innocents, and steal food from hungry children? What sympathy Marcus might have had for them, was blunted by their actions.

As it was, the _Crusader_ was in the middle of an FTL jump. They had tracked the insurgents to an isolated system, far from the reaches of civilized space, and the Republic would accost them soon. The insurgents were probably hungry, their vessels in need of repairs. The _Crusader_ would have no trouble with them.

The captain was stood at his usual position on the bridge, a table with a command screen and galaxy map before him. Men and women worked tirelessly around him, the bridge a constant flurry of action. Beside Marcus was his Executive Officer – his XO. A stout woman in her mid-thirties, Commander Vanessa Keynes was loyal to the bone – perhaps to a fault, some might say.

"Keynes," Marcus began, his eyes wandering over the command screen. "How long until we drop out of FTL?"

Vanessa was in the middle of something – she sorted datapads in her hands, her brows furrowed. "Helm reports five minutes, Captain. Orders?"

A mug of steaming coffee sat upon the table. Grasping it by the handle, Marcus took a swig of the brew. Hot, bitter, and a wonder to his tongue. For all the bad, the Republic sure knew how to take care of its own.

"Prep weapons and countermeasures, all hands to battlestations." Marcus ordered, placing his coffee down. "We catch these rebels _now_ , and we're not letting them escape this time."

The commander nodded, giving a stiff salute. "Aye-aye." She walked away, taking the datapads with her. Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the bridge wash over him. The low hum of the drive core, the hustle and bustle of his crew as they toiled. Marcus Shepard did not think he would ever tire of it.

A low beep signaled the intercoms, and Vanessa's voice came through the speakers. " _All hands to battlestations, all hands to battlestations. This is not a drill, all hands to battlestations._ "

Marcus opened his eyes, noting that the action within the bridge had seemed to double. A timer had appeared in the corner of his command screen, denoting _03:22_. Three minutes and twenty two seconds left.

"Tactical!" he barked out, looking to the side. "Status?"

A crewmember called back immediately – Marcus smiled. "Main guns are online and ready to fire, Captain! Broadsides are charging, reading an average of seventy-six percent. Missile pods are prepped, and torpedoes are armed and loaded for bear."

Marcus nodded, taking another glance at the timer. _02:43._ "When we drop out of FTL, I want an immediate scan of the system." Marcus commanded, before taking another swig of his coffee. "If there are any insurgents, we'll give them no quarter."

 _00:38._ It was nearly time, Marcus noted. He gazed over the command screen, taking in the different visuals and figures. Shields were ready, engineering was steady… now, all he could do, was wait thirty more seconds.

The time passed quickly, and he watched as the timer clicked, second after second. Shaking his head, Marcus took a big swig from his coffee, draining the mug entirely. He placed it down on the command table before facing forwards. He was ready, he knew, and whatever sympathies he might have left for the rebels…

He'd have to set them aside.

Five seconds left. The intercom buzzed again, and Marcus tensed.

" _All hands prepare for FTL drop._ "

The timer finally hit zero, and the hairs upon the back of Marcus' neck stiffened. An electric charge seemed to pass through the bridge – a sensation that he had felt so many times before, yet never managed to fully acclimate to. Then, with a sudden _crack_ , the _Crusader_ 's momentum seemed to shift entirely. They had dropped out of FTL.

"Status!" Marcus barked, staring intently at the command screen. A red blip had appeared in the corner – several of them, in fact.

"All systems nominal, shields are prepped!" a voice called back. "Captain, I'm reading four signatures to our front – CLF frequencies detected!"

A window appeared on the command screen, growing larger. Four red figures came into view, their shapes familiar. One was larger than the rest – a Lancaster-class destroyer. The other three seemed to be corvettes, only a mere two hundred meters in length. Confidence flowed through Marcus, and a small smile stretched across his features.

"Captain! CLF vessels detected, counting four targets bearing four points to starboard. Looks like their shields aren't up. Orders?"

Marcus nodded, resting his hands upon the command table. "Maintain heading. Target that destroyer, designation 'Alpha.'" He took a deep breath, raising his chin. "Comms, send a warning. No survivors."

"Message away, Captain! Targets are on the move – they're trying to escape!"

Marcus Shepard shook his head – he wouldn't allow that. "That's not happening. Power reactors to one-hundred and fifty percent. Tactical, status?"

"Target Alpha is in range, firing solutions acquired!"

"Fire when ready."

A moment later, the _Crusader_ rumbled, three shots firing in quick succession. Marcus watched as a trio of bright red lights shot through space, before impacting upon the destroyer. Fire rippled across the CLF ship's hull, the armor no match for the magnetic cannons.

"Target Alpha is drifting – looks to be a good kill," a crewmember said. "Captain, the corvettes are turning around – they're heading for us."

Marcus laughed mirthlessly – it was more of a scoff, in all honesty. "They must know they don't have a chance. Helm, bring us around."

The _Crusader_ neared the corvettes, slowly turning towards its starboard. Meanwhile, a trio of lights flashed from the CLF ships – they had fired. Three electric yellow beams crossed the expanse in seconds, flying towards the _Crusader_. They never hit their target, however – a blue sphere seemed to flicker around the hull, and the shots, relatively small depleted uranium shells, simply disintegrated upon impact.

"Shields are at ninety-four percent, Captain." Marcus raised a brow, grinning. By now, the entirety of the _Crusader_ 's starboard side faced the corvettes, the hull bristling with the barrels of weapons.

"Fire starboard broadsides – full salvo," Marcus ordered, closing his eyes. He already knew what the outcome would be.

The _Crusader_ 's side burst alight, red explosions flickering all over the hull. The CLF corvettes stood no chance – while some shots missed entirely, the majority of the salvo tore through the ships. The corvettes slowly broke apart, their hulls fragmented as fire licked through what remained.

"No survivors detected, Captain," a voice called out, and Marcus nodded in understanding. However, as he counted the wreckages of the CLF vessels, his eyes narrowed.

"Three corvettes, one destroyer," Marcus Shepard mumbled, raising a hand to his chin. UER HIGHCOM had told him the flotilla that had attacked the traders had five vessels to his name – yet one was missing. He turned his attention to the planet the CLF vessels had been orbiting – a white globe, such that he suspected it was an arctic world.

"I want that planet scanned – as well as the space around it," Marcus ordered, his crew hustling to follow his commands. The planet appeared on his command screen, its white surface practically glowing with light.

"Scans are out," a crewmate called out, his hands flying across his display board. "Gravity anomalies detected – looks like a ship bugged out. Soon as we got here, I suspect."

That was unfortunate – while there was no point to capturing the ships, as the UER traders had long been executed and their goods jettisoned, UER had wanted the insurgents wiped out. Marcus closed his eyes, retreating into his thoughts, but they were interrupted when another member of the crew yelled out.

"Captain! Scans on the planet are detecting CLF frequencies – looked like they had a base on the surface."

That got his attention – a CLF base meant that survivors were probably camped out on the surface. Perhaps hiding, but unless Marcus had completely neglected a scan of the planet, they wouldn't have been able to hide for long. Neither would they have been able to escape – with no vessels, the insurgents were stranded.

Easy pickings for his marines.

Marcus Shepard placed a hand upon his command table, selecting a name – "Major Garren Reyes." A green light blipped into appearance on the table, signifying that a communication line had been established.

"Major Reyes," Marcus began, looking away. "Do you read?"

It took a moment, but a deep voice responded, the hint of a Hispanic accent lining it. " _I read you, Captain. Rebels cleared out?_ "

Marcus nodded, though the major could not see it. "Affirmative, Reyes. I need you to prep your marines for a drop. You're going planetside."

"… _Will do, Captain,_ " Reyes responded. " _What about Disciple Two?_ "

Marcus thought for a second – Disciple Two was the resident Special Assault Unit fireteam onboard his ship – special forces, trained for raids, assaults, and infiltration. They weren't a November Group team, by any stretch of the imagination, but they were still among humanity's best. Marcus grunted in affirmation, giving a small smile.

"Them too, Major. They'll take point. Carthago delenda est."

Marcus could hear the major chuckle darkly, a smirk evident. " _Absolutely. I'll get my boys ready, Captain. Just get us in position._ "

The major disconnected, leaving Marcus to his thoughts. No matter how prepared the insurgents might be on the surface, they would not be able to withstand a concentrated marine assault – the captain knew that much. How many would be taken prisoner, however, was another question altogether.

 _Carthago delenda est._

 _No superstes._

* * *

Green fields, and golden pastures. A bright yellow sun overhead, and the smell of morning dew upon the grass. He could practically smell the harvest, the orange corn cooked on the cob. The gleeful shouts of the children, playing under the orchard trees.

Perhaps it was the notion of a time long past, but Victor Evans cherished it – the memories of a bygone day, immortalized in a little picture.

The picture frame was small, kept tidy. Victor held it within his hands, his eyes gazing over the scene held within. It was an old picture, taken by on older model of vid-camera, but he kept it nonetheless. A reminder.

Victor looked up, taking a glance around the room. It was a pod-bay, the walls lined with drop-pods and arms lockers. Nearby were a man and a woman, both suited up in armor – black hardsuits, with yellow lines running down the middle. The armor, and colors, of the Special Assault Unit.

He himself was a Special Assault Trooper, a member of a dedicated force of elite marines. The others were two of his squadmates – Valerie Black, the squad marksman and technical expert, and Jason Dunn, their automatic gunner. Victor wondered where their commanding officer was, but his thoughts were interrupted when a yellow light and a loud buzz began to blare on the ceiling. A nearby door opened, and a tall, blond man walked in.

"You know the routine, marines," the man called out, getting their attention. "Get to your pods, and get ready."

He walked towards Victor, a weapon in hand. Getting closer, the man gave Victor a small smile, offering the gun.

"You're not going anywhere without a weapon, Rook," He handed Victor the rifle, before taking a glance at the small picture in his hands. "You ever gonna tell me what that picture's about?"

Victor shook his head, cradling the rifle in his arms. "Don't think so, LT," he chuckled, looking back up at the man. "What's the sitch?"

"LT" was Victor's commanding officer – Lieutenant Jonathan Faulk. He was the leader of their squad, a tidy little team of shock troopers. Together, along with two others, they were "Disciple Two" – the _Crusader_ 's resident fireteam of Special Assault Troopers.

Faulk looked away, towards the other two members of Disciple Two - the woman, with a brown ponytail, and a rather large, dark-skinned man. "Just a combat drop. Reyes wants us at the front, clear out any rebels. Take prisoners, if we can." He turned around, beginning to walk away. "I'll let you get ready. Drop's in two mikes."

Victor nodded, looking back down at the rifle in his hands. An R8 Special Combat Assault Rifle, or SCAR – the UER's standard issue combat rifle. Humanity had long ago ditched traditional gunpowder-based firearms, and had adopted weapons based on Rivers-Gauss railgun technology. Every round contained its own small electric charge, allowing the firearm to accelerate shots at insane velocities.

"Deadly" was an understatement, and Victor would hate to be caught on the other side of a UER firearm. The SCAR itself was of a simple, yet rugged and utilitarian design. The design itself was relatively comparable to those of 21st century firearms – sleek, modular, and comfortable. As a young child, Victor's Infonet searches into early models of the SCAR had brought up references to such names as "SIG 550" and "MCX." Curious, really.

His own rifle was somewhat modified – a slightly longer barrel, a small scope on top, and an extended stock. Shaking his head, Victor attached the rifle to one of his pod's magnetic straps, seeing a small handgun in the other strap – an R2 Crimson. At his feet was a helmet, and Victor picked it up. It was black, with a polarized visor and a yellow line running down the middle. With a grunt, Victor slid it over his head, watching as his heads-up-display flickered on.

A moment later, his pod closed shut, the doors hissing as the seals became airtight. Victor could hear a rumble as, below the pod, the bay doors slid open. His pod slowly rotated, before coming to a stop right above the gap.

Victor's earpiece crackled, and a small name appeared in the corner of his vision – _Faulk_.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, Disciple Two Actual. Check in, check in, drop is in thirty._ "

Two names joined Faulk's, blipping green in the affirmative.

" _Black here, good to go,_ " a woman's voice said, while Dunn's light simply blinked a few times. Victor knew Jason to be a quiet man, and wasn't surprised he hadn't voiced anything. Briefly clearing his throat, Victor queued his radio.

"Rook's green," he said, shifting his body in the pod. He gazed towards the top of the pod, his eyes landing on a small timer. _Fifteen seconds_.

Faulk's voice returned, relaxed and smooth. " _Alright people, greenlight from command. Have good ends, good highs, and I'll see you on the ground_."

Victor licked his lips, closing his eyes. "Hoo-ah," he muttered quietly. A few seconds later, a trio of beeps rang in his ear. A low groan rumbled through his pod, before it was jettisoned from its bay with a loud, explosive noise.

Opening his eyes, Victor was presented with a rather entrancing sight – the dark expanse of space, steadily growing more and more blue. Below, a tremendous globe of white sat waiting, glowing with a thin sheen of atmosphere. The trooper could see many small dots – hordes of them, really, at least a company's worth of pods as both his fireteam, and many more marines from the RNS _Crusasder_ , plummeted down towards the planet below them.

" _Never gets old, does it?_ " a voice asked in his ear – it was Valerie.

Victor chuckled lowly, before queuing his own comms. "No, it does not." He blinked once, before sighing. "Well, it _is_ only my third drop. Should hope it wouldn't get old at this point."

" _Right, yeah. I remember your file. Direct volunteer for the_ SAU, _straight from the marine corps, yeah?_ " She paused, before clearing her throat. " _Anyways, we've got a job to do. LT, orders?_ "

Faulk's light popped up on Victor's heads-up display, a small green dot. " _Glad I didn't have to interrupt, Val. Gentlemen, we've got a simple job on our hands. Hunter-killer – find any insurgents, and eliminate them. Hoo-ah?"_

The fireteam gave their responses, and Victor took a moment to look out his pod's window. The icy planet below was fast approaching, and a thin sheet of red began to form on the exterior of his pod. The tight cabin was getting hotter, and Victor began to feel the throes of adrenalin pumping through his veins. His heart pounded in his chest, the familiar sensation of the median between fear and resolve.

Pure seconds passed, thick clouds passing by as the surface of Signis II came into view. Their destination was written like the ink of a pen upon parchment – a small compound, its walls and structures a dark black upon the frosty white. Chatter in his ear brought Victor out of his thoughts, as Faulk's light appeared.

" _Team, direct your pods to the marked waypoint,_ " Faulk commanded, a red arrow appearing over Victor's HUD. It looked to be over the largest structure in the rebel base below. " _On my mark, shift heading and deploy chutes._ "

Victor moved his hand towards a control stick, grasping it tightly. A red button was embedded within its top, its function singular – to deploy a parachute above the drop pod that would slow its descent. Not by much, mind, but enough to keep its occupant alive.

" _Mark_!"

Breathing heavily, the shock trooper jerked the stick, whilst simultaneously slamming his thumb on the red button. The entire pod lurched in the same direction, readjusting towards the red waypoint in his view. Victor could barely feel it, but the pod began to slow down – only minimally.

" _Right,_ " the lieutenant began again, his voice crackling in Victor's ear. " _LZ looks to be a large structure – we'll figure out what it is. Soon as we land, we clear that building, and move onto the next. Val, I'm gonna need you to provide a layout of the base once we're clear._ "

" _Wilco._ "

The base below them was quite close, now – in fact, he could see a few small figures rushing around, like ants around their hill. Small, bright orange flashes flared from a few of them, and out of habit Victor leaned back in his pod as he heard an audible ping on its underside.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, letting the rush of air outside his pod fill his ears. Victor's heart pounded in his chest, and for a few moments, he felt a simple peace – the calm before the storm.

It all ended, when he was suddenly jolted. He could hear glass shatter, followed by a dense explosion. Outside, voices screamed and shouted, visceral and guttural. This was real.

Snapping his eyes open, he looked to the corner of his HUD. A small radar appeared, a blue blip at the center. There was a veritable sea of red around him, along with a couple of green dots. Knowing that his squadmates were with him, Victor felt somewhat better – yet, he knew he had to capitalize on the force of surprise and shock. Jolting into action, he pulled his sidearm and rifle from their magnetic straps, holstering the Crimson pistol at his hip and grasping his SCAR tightly.

Victor took a deep breath, before slamming his hand on one of the many buttons in the pod. The doors burst open, and he could hear a dull thud, followed by a muted scream. Immediately, he was greeted by a dark room, a cloud of dust, and a flood of IFF strobes, most of them a hostile red. Pivoting to his left, he sighted two men in ragged green uniforms, fumbling with rifles. Two simple pulls of the trigger brought them down.

A bright orange flare burst from nearby, and Victor shuffled to the left. Just in time, as a yellow light whizzed by. He sighted the target and let loose a burst, watching as the rebel crumpled to the ground. A loud, guttural scream caught his attention, and Victor barely had time to turn around before seeing an insurgent sprinting at him, a knife raised high in the air.

Victor dropped his rifle, bringing both hands up to block the rebel's arm. Using the insurgent's own momentum against him, Victor shoved the knife into the man's stomach. The rebel doubled over, crying out in terror and pain, but was silenced by an armored elbow to the head.

He saw movement in front of him and crouched down, pulling his Crimson from its holster. He fired twice, crimson splattering across one insurgent's chest, while a third shot forced another to duck down. Grabbing his rifle from the ground, Victor took the moment to take cover behind his pod and take in the scene around him.

The room was large, barely lit, and dust filled the air. Tables were set in orderly lines, yet those nearest him and his pod were upturned, seemingly thrown about. The lights above flickered on and off, the power likely damaged by the onset of so many drop pods. Victor figured it was a cafeteria of some sort, and a few bodies lay scattered about – only some killed by his own hands.

Victor winced as a few rounds pinged off his pod. He looked around, searching for his squadmates, but could nothing but a few green blips. Hoping that they were alright, Victor grasped his rifle and blind-fired around the pod. The assault on his pod seemed to sputter and he rose from cover, rifle at the ready.

' _Come on, asshole'_ , he thought, keeping an eye out for other threats. ' _Fucking test me_.'

As if on cue, a head popped up from behind a table, a weapon pointed at Victor. Without hesitation, Victor fired a burst at the insurgent. The man fell back with a cry, scarlet painting the floor around him. Sliding forwards, the trooper ducked down behind the same table, listening and watching for more threats.

He quickly realized, however, that the gunfire had died down. Looking at his radar, Victor could no longer see any active red dots – only himself, and three stationary green blips. A voice called out from elsewhere in the cafeteria – a familiar one.

"Disciple Two, gimme a sitrep!" He could hear Faulk's voice coughing out, from somewhere to his right. Grunting, Victor rose to his feet, checking himself for injuries. He found none, and walked towards the green dots on his HUD.

"I'm good!" Victor called out, stepping over a corpse. As he approached, he could see Faulk and Dunn, the former kneeling on the ground.

"I'm good too," Jason said, his voice a deep baritone. He held a large weapon, a box magaizine hanging from the side. Beside him, the lieutenant was clutching his chest, patting it a few times. "LT, you hit?"

The ceiling lights flickered once, and then again. The lieutenant shook his head, coughing once. "Nah, it's nothing. Piece of concrete hit my chest. Fucked up, but I'm good." He looked away, scanning the room. "Where the hell's Val?"

There was silence for a moment, before a voice called back from the smoke. "I'm here." A feminine figure appeared in the smoke, a red visor peering at them. Valerie gestured backwards, giving a low chuckle.

"Looks like your pod door hit one of them," she looked at Victor, shaking her head. "Poor guy. No open casket for him."

Victor chuckled uneasily, unsure of what to say. Before he could figure something out, the lieutenant cleared his throat.

"Alright," he began, patting his chest one last time. "This room's clear – now to find the rest of these assholes." Faulk turned to Valerie. "Techie, got the layout for this place yet?"

The tech sergeant nodded, bringing her wrist up. A small hologram appeared from her arm, a glowing panel display. "Yep, got it right here. Looks like we're in the mess hall."

"I'll defer to you on this one. Where do you suggest we head next?"

The woman's gloved fingers flew across the haptic display, her eyes scanning its contents. "Hallway to the east heads to the brig, deeper into the base. Reds landed on the outskirts of the base – they'll take care of everything behind us."

Victor gave a snort at their nickname for the regular marines – named so for the red trim and stripes along their similarly black armor. "They'll be fine," he said, adjusting his grip on his SCAR. "What do you think, LT?"

Faulk sat in contemplation for a few moments, before nodding. "It's decided. Check your weapons and gear – we'll make our way towards the brig." The lieutenant motioned towards Victor. "Rook, take point."

Nodding, Victor jogged towards one end of the large mess hall, towards a large metal door. As he neared, the door began to slide open. Before it fully opened, however, the doors released a jet of sparks, causing the trooper to jump back.

The door slammed back shut, a loud clang reverberating through the mess hall. Victor sighed, stepping to the side.

"Door's jammed," he announced, placing his rifle on his back. "I'll try and force it open. Anyone got a read on the other side?"

Dunn joined him, grasping the right side of the door as Victor grabbed the left. Valerie pressed herself up against the hall beside him, whilst the lieutenant kneeled to the side.

"Gimme a moment," Black muttered, her hand once more reaching for her gauntlet. "Shit, hold up. Three hostile signatures in the hall – basic foot-mobiles. More in the next hall."

Jason spoke up, holding up a small cylinder in his hand. "I got a niner. On your mark, LT?"

"Mark."

With simultaneous grunts of exertion, Victor and Dunn pulled open their respective sides of the door. The latter tossed the grenade into the hallway, barely missing a flood of yellow tracers. Victor waited a moment, hearing the distinctive concussive explosions of Jason's "niner" – nine rapid blasts as the hall before them lit up with a blinding white light.

As soon as the explosions ceased, Victor rushed into the hallway. Three red targets were scattered around the hall, each of them screaming in pain as they clutched their ears and covered their eyes. Three simple pulls of his trigger brought them down, but he wasted no effort in pushing forwards.

"Blitz 'em!" he could hear Faulk shout out, the team rushing ahead. They passed through an open doorway, and Victor's HUD immediately lit alight like a Christmas tree.

The room they had entered was similarly large, yet still somewhat smaller than the mess hall they had left. To Victor's left was a metal desk, and he slid behind it, taking cover as yellow tracers pinged around him.

"Dunn, tangos to your right, suppress them."

"Rook, flank those assholes!"

Victor peered over his desk, watching as their squad gunner's piece burst to life, roaring bullet after bullet at an insane rate. The enemy seemed similarly preoccupied, and he took the moment to rush from cover. Two rebels stood up to fire at him, but they were brought down by the distinct ping of a single-shot rifle. The trooper made a mental note to thank Valerie later.

He slid behind another desk, aiming over the top at an exposed insurgent. A burst brought the man down screaming, but another took aim at Victor, and he ducked down.

"Black," Victor spoke into his radio. "Hostile to your eleven, I'm suppressed."

A second later, he heard a rebel cry out in pain, but Victor paid it no heed as he leaned around the other side of the desk. Two men were charging forwards, but his rifle sputtered with a steady staccato, and they crumpled to the floor.

Moving from cover again, Victor slowly rotated around the side of the room. He waited until he was fully behind the insurgents Dunn was suppressing, before taking aim.

 _Cra-crack! Cra-crack! Cra-crack! Cra-crack!_

The rebels fell, crimson splattering across each other as bright red tracers impacted their bodies. The room fell silent once more, though Victor could still hear the distinct sounds of fighting elsewhere in the facility.

"Clear!" he shouted, turning around towards another door. His squadmates echoed the word, sooning joining Victor.

Valerie looked to her wristbound computer once more, pressing herself against a wall. "That's the brig, on the other side. Single hallway, twenty cells on each side. Orders, LT?"

The lieutenant looked to Dunn, nodding. "Jason, get that door open. You two, get ready to clear the brig out."

The large gunner moved forwards, placing his hands upon the door. With another loud grunt of exertion, he pulled the panel to the side, revealing a dark hallway. Victor moved through the doorway, followed by the tech sergeant. Near the other side, he could see six orange blips, rapidly moving away from them.

"There, more of them! Down the hall!" Faulk shouted behind him, and Victor's legs pumped into action. "Rook, Black, after them!"

Victor charged forwards, hearing the armored boots of the squadmates behind him. One of the rebels looked back, looking strangely blue, but he ignored the oddity, trying to bring his rifle up. Faulk's words stopped him, however.

"Unarmed targets, unarmed targets! Do not shoot, do not shoot!" the lieutenant cried out. They were getting closer and closer, the insurgents looking strangely fatigued, and within seconds the shock troopers had closed the distance.

With a feminine cry, the rebel in the back fell to the ground, her booted feet twisted at an awkward angle. Seeing an opportunity, Victor dived forwards, his armored body landing upon the insurgent as she cried out in pain. He pulled out his Crimson, pointing it at her face.

"Halt!" Valerie ordered above them, and he looked up to see his squad holding the rebels at gunpoint. Yet, something was wrong – the insurgents looked odd, their forms not at all like those of humans. He looked down again, peering into the eyes of the rebel caught below him, yet his breath hitched in his throat as his heart skipped a beat.

A blue face met his armored visor, a set of tentacle-like cropping at the back of the head. The features was distinctly feminine, human yet alien. And the eyes – a deep violet, yet they grew more and more black by the moment.

Before Victor could react, a pair of hands slammed against the side of his helmet, grasping his head tightly. He made to shout, to cry out in indignation and alarm, but Victor found his vision hazing, his eyes glazing over as the woman's eyes below him turned a full midnight black.

" _ **Embrace Eternity!**_ "

His vision exploded, his mind a roulette of kaleidoscopic colors. Images flashed before him, wheeling away like a dancer's pirouettes. A city, a peoples, billions upon billions, and a wide planet, lush with life and _blue_.

The thousands of stars, many of them home to _people_. Colonies, homes, yet not of the United Earth Republic. A station in the sky, amidst a violet cloud of atoms, home to millions of _beings_. The spiky ones – turians? The blue ones – asari, like the one who clutched his mind. A frog peoples, salarians. Many more, and Victor's mind rushed through them like a crazed fly.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Victor reeled back in shock, his vision exploding once more, yet with colors and sensations of the present – of the immediate. A heaved gasp escaped his lungs, a pained groan as he lay back upon the cold concrete.

Before him was the woman – the _asari_. Arysa T'Remi – how did he know her name? She gazed at him with a veiled expression – fear? Shock? Possibly a tint of sorrow and remorse? Standing above them were the rest of his squad – Jonathan Faulk, Valerie Black, and Jason Dunn, staring at Arysa and her friends, their eyes ablaze with fury.

The _friends_ – the other aliens. Their names crossed his mind, but he could not point any to a specific being. Yet, he ignored that notion for now – fear and anger. Fervent fear and ardent anger welled up inside him, and Victor sat up with another pained grunt, grasping the grip of his pistol once more. The others were silent, and Victor spoke.

"The _fuck_ ," he spat out, grasping the lip of his helmet. He tore it off, to reveal his enflamed and terrified expression. "Did _you_ just do to me?"

As if on cue, his squadmates raised their weapons as well, pointing them once more at the aliens. The aliens stared at Arysa, their expressions foreign, yet so familiar – prompts, frustration, and horror.

Victor made to shove the barrel of his Crimson into the blue-skinned alien's face, but her cries stopped him, her mouth moving with unease as bubbled words fell from her mouth.

"S-stop!" she cried out, a hint of a tear appearing in her eye. The alien – Arysa, as Victor somehow knew her name – shook her head and wringed her hands. "P-please!"

Her words sounded as if she had a ball in her mouth – nearly babble, as if the very words were foreign to her. Yet, Victor's eyes widened, as did those of his team. The alien had not spoken whatever tongue her people used – instead, her words were in English, the common language of Man, and an impossibility for any asari, nor turian nor salarian, to know.

"Me… me let," Arysa stuttered, before wringing her hands and holding her temple in frustration. "Let… let me? Let me ex… ex-ex… explain!"

Victor took a deep breath, still holding his pistol up. "How the hell… do you know English?" He moved his off-hand to his head, holding the base of his palm against his temple.

"I can explain!" Arysa assured, her hands held in front of her. Her words felt more and more familiar by the moment, no longer a bubble upon her tongue. "Please—"

"Then explain!" Victor shouted. He felt strange – he had never felt such a combination of fear and terror before, yet it was a completely unfathomable circumstance. He felt as if he had his mind groped, _violated_ , and licked apart by an unwanted entity.

The asari made to scramble back, but she had nowhere to go. She whimpered, beginning to cower. "The mindmeld, I… I didn't mean to!" She held her hands together, seemingly pleading with the human trooper. "Just instincts!" Arysa bowed her head, tears now falling freely from her face. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so, sorry!"

Victor fell silent, unsure of what to say. He shivered, his body tremoring as the Crimson in his hand shook. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand upon his shoulder, and he scrambled back to see Valerie looking down at him. Her helmet was off, a gaze of confusion, yet resolve, in her eyes.

"Rook. Rook!" she pulled him up back, turning Victor away from the others. "You alright? What happened?" She held a sort of maternal tone to her voice, completely unlike her usual self.

Victor looked back, watching as Dunn and Faulk held all of the aliens at gunpoint. Arysa was still sniveling on the ground, now clutching her knees to her chest. Turning back to Valerie, he sighed an unstable breath.

"I… I don't know," he muttered, taking another deep breath to calm himself. "I don't know. But I'll be fine. Hopefully."

Valerie's head tilted, signaling that she did not completely believe him. Their attention, however, turned to Faulk, who had queued up their squad radio.

"Weaver, Disciple Two Actual. Do you read? Over." Faulk spoke, turning away from the aliens as he signaled to Dunn.

Their respective radios crackled, and a baritone Hispanic voice responded. " _I read you. Send traffic, over._ "

Faulk glanced at Victor, before continuing. "Weaver, what the fuck is first contact protocol?"

Victor tuned the rest of their conversation out, instead taking deep, repetitive breaths to calm himself. Valerie stood above him, a hand on his shoulder as she looked back at the aliens. A few seconds later, Faulk's voice caught their attention, and Victor looked back.

"Dunn! Black!" Faulk prompted, pointing at the aliens. "Get those things cuffed. I'll talk to Rook."

Victor shook his head, motioning for Faulk. He held his hands together in the air, a decision weaving together in his mind. "LT? Cuff me too."

Faulk's head tilted, confusion evident behind his visor. "Come again, Rook?"

The trooper rose to his feet, his stance unsteady. He grabbed his lieutenant's chestplate, bringing the man closer. "I said cuff me, sir," Victor whispered, briefly closing his eyes. "Don't ask, just do it."

Faulk stood silently for a moment, before nodding. "I'll trust your judgement, Rook. Hands together."

Victor clasped his hands together, holding them out for the lieutenant. Faulk brought out a pair of glowing blue rings, seemingly holographic as they hummed in the dark. Wrapping them around Victor's hands, they latched shut with a laser-like buzz. Turning away from the Corporal, Faulk brought his hand back up to his helmet.

"Crusader, Crusader, Disciple Two. Prepare the brig. We've got prisoners."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ Hey, all, and welcome back. I know it's been some time, but I finally managed to get this chapter done after _many_ distractions.**

 **I'm not the best at writing combat scenes, so hopefully it all went well. Let me know if there's an issue!**

 _ **Review Responses:**_

89: **I'll keep that in mind for next time. Thanks. Might go back and edit it.**

Ocstek: **I like to think that I've balanced the canon and UER technologies well. We'll see, won't we?**


	3. Prelude: Chapter Three - Discovery

"How many?"

The low hum of the _Crusader_ 's reactors rumbled in Marcus Shepard's ear. He gazed upon the bridge's command screen, Commander Keynes and Major Reyes at his sides. Keynes held a datapad, scrolling through its contents.

"Four marines wounded – zero killed in action," Keynes reported, glancing at her captain. "Satisfactory, really. But we've also got an anomaly."

Shepard nodded, looking to his right at Major Reyes. "I've heard. Reyes told me about the aliens in our brig." The captain's eyes narrowed, glancing away again. "And… the trooper. What was his name, again?"

"Corporal Victor Evans, Special Assault Trooper," Garren Reyes answered, grimacing. "His CO said he was… _accosted_ , by one of the aliens. _Did_ something to him."

"And he cuffed himself?"

The major nodded. "Yes. Well, it'd be more accurate to say he _told_ his commanding officer to cuff him."

A corner of Shepard's lips curled. "Smart lad. Knows we can't take the risk. He's in the brig, you said?"

"They all are," Keynes answered. "Separate cells, obviously. In sight of each other."

Marcus huffed, cracking his neck. "Right. Nav has the bridge, let's go meet them. Trooper first, then we'll find a way to interrogate the aliens." He motioned towards his fellow officers, leading the way out the bridge. "Might grab some coffee on the way. Lord knows I need it."

The major kept pace beside Shepard, while Keynes lagged behind. "Shepard, you've already had four cups since we got here."

"Then we'll make it five. Maybe six." The captain of the _Crusader_ chuckled, adjusting a pin upon his uniform's collar. "Funny, my boy shares my love of coffee. Probably drinks more than I do. Jane can't stand it, though. Takes after her mom."

"Should divorce her," Keynes piped up, a wry smirk stretched across her lips. "Can't trust anyone who doesn't enjoy coffee."

Glancing at the major, Marcus pointed a finger at the commander. "You see, Reyes? That's why Vanessa is my XO."

The three shared a laugh, waiting as the elevator slowly descended through the inner confines of the ship.

"How are they, by the way?"

Raising a brow, Shepard turned to Reyes. "Hm?"

"Your kids," the major explained, as the elevator gave a little tone. The doors slid open, a large hall before them. A marine clerk stood behind a thin counter, tending to a terminal with a datapad in his hands.

Shepard shook his head, approaching the clerk. "They ain't kids anymore, I'll tell you that much." He nodded, then saluted, to acknowledge the clerk, who returned the gesture, before placing a right hand upon a metal sheet. The clerk's terminal buzzed in response, a green light appearing on a secure door behind him.

Glancing at the clerk, then at the major, Marcus chuckled. "John's just graduated from the FMI – wants to be an Enforcer," he explained, as the trio of senior officers passed through the door. "Don't know where Jane is right now – she just got assigned a new post. November Seven. Highly classified apparently." The captain grumbled, shaking his head as he walked. "Tell you what, my daughter's gonna make me go crazy."

Reyes gazed towards their sides. They passed by cell after cell – empty for the most part, but a couple here and there held wounded humans, armored guards patrolling the halls of the brig. "Fenix Military Institute, Republic Law Bureau, November Group." He whistled, shaking his head. "Shepard blood's meant for greatness."

"Whatever you say, 'Weaver,'" Marcus answered, coming to a stop at a cell. He gazed inwards, his eyes wandering over the man sitting inside. Barely a man, really – short cropped brown hair upon his head, and a sullen look upon him.

"We're gonna have a conversation with this marine."

* * *

From one cell, to another.

Honestly, it seemed to be the epitome of Arysa's life, at the moment. Of course, this new cell was much more comfortable than the last. No pockets of ice running through the walls, no knife-like wind slicing across her cheek, and the false warmth of the belly of a space-faring vessel baying away the cold.

Well, _comfortable_ wasn't quite the right word for a cell, but nevertheless. Neither she, nor her friends, were shivering on the edge of hypothermia, and despite the slow grumble of hunger laying within the base of her stomach, Arysa couldn't say things were all that bad.

… Right?

A single tear dripped from her eye, and with a pained whimper, the asari matron plunged her face into her hands. She shivered with regret, but felt a firm hand upon her shoulder.

"Arysa," a flanged voice spoke, having a somewhat calming effect. "Arysa, it's okay. We're here for you."

Caelia Paros hesitated a moment, before wrapping her friend and leader in a warm hug – well, as warm as turians could be. "Hey, Rissy! Arysa, it'll be fine." She gave the asari a gentle shake. "It's not like you did it on purpose, right?"

Arysa sniffed, before nodding glumly. "Yes, but it's _not_ just that!" the asari looked up at Caelia, and then at the rest of her friends in the cell. "I may have just single-handedly screwed up First Contact between the Citadel and this new race. Who knows what'll happen?"

Her heart began to pound faster in her chest, a multitude of possibilities springing up in Arysa's mind. Taloned fingers grasped at her cheeks, however, and Caelia forced her to turn around.

"Arysa," the turian said firmly, glancing back. The others were watching carefully, a mixture of emotions across their own features. Pontius gazed silently, a cold stone, but years of friendship had taught Arysa how to see the warm in his eyes. Taelon watched with a similarly glum look, but even he looked concerned for her.

The other two – Paell and Niana – shared a glance, warm expressions upon their faint smiles. Turning back to the turian nurse, Arysa listened carefully.

"It'll be fine, Rissy," Caelia cooed, taking one of the matron's hands in her own. "Nothing bad will happen – it's not over yet. We can still fix this. And you'll lead us forwards, as always." The turian's mandibles flexed, giving the equivalent of a warm smile.

Arysa gazed into the turian's concerned green eyes, gulping before nodding. She wiped her face with a hand, resolve settling within her. "You're – you're right," the matron said, more to assure herself than anyone else. "We'll get through this."

She looked away from the female turian, gazing out the transparent cell doors. She could make out a figure sitting in the cell opposite theirs – one of the aliens. The fur upon its head was a dark brown, and a pale face gazed back, a glum expression upon it.

Arysa recognized that face, and regret flooded back into her as she met the eyes of the man whom she had melded with.

Victor Evans.

She hadn't much time to ponder the idea, however, before her vision was blocked by a trio of figures.

"Look!" Niana, the maiden asari, exclaimed. "Someone's here – more of those aliens!"

Arysa watched as three humans, dressed in white and red, appeared outside their cell. The aliens weren't facing them, however – rather, their backs were to Arysa and her friends as they faced the opposite cell. They seemed to talk for a few moments before another two aliens, dressed in black and red armor, joined them.

They opened the door to Victor's cell, the armored ones slapping a pair of holographic cuffs on the sullen man's wrists. Arysa watched as one of the aliens dressed in white, some form of silver bird pinned on his shoulders, entered the cell as well.

"What do you think they'll talk about?" Taelon asked, nearing the transparent door of their cell.

They all shook their heads, none of them having any idea. With the exception of Arysa, none of them knew anything about this new species, and the matron hadn't shared anything with them. It wasn't as if she knew much, either – it was all a puzzle in her mind, arbitrarily set pictures and motions that she hadn't any idea how to translate. Perhaps a bit of fire, as well.

Unfortunately or not, that was usually what would happen in any case of an accidental, or unwanted, mind meld.

They sat in silence, however, waiting for something they weren't even sure was relevant to themselves. The humans' conversation dragged on, and Arysa's friends found themselves distracted, unable to hold attention on a talk that they were not even privy to. Arysa, however, continued to watch.

It seemed like ages had passed, when finally the aliens' conversation had ended. The eagle-shouldered man left Victor alone, the marine sitting back sullenly, but Arysa had no time to wonder as their own cell doors were slid open, the two armored aliens entering. The one in white, presumably in charge, followed.

"Cuffs on, and lock the door," he ordered, and the soldiers complied. Arysa did not resist as a pair of holographic cuffs were locked around her wrists. The human approached her, his compatriots' weapons at the ready.

"So," the man began, looking down at them all. "My name is Marcus Shepard. I'm the captain of this ship." He turned to Arysa, his eyes narrowed. "The marine locked up behind us tells me that _you_ ," Shepard pointed, "can speak English. Is this true?"

Arysa simply nodded, her eyes downcast. Thoughts flew past into her head, and she knew that she had one chance to persuade the alien captain that she and her friends weren't a threat. It was all on her, after all – none of her crew could understand the humans.

Shepard's mouth curled downwards, displeasure etched across his face. "Well, if you can speak the language, _speak_ ," he said, a commanding tone to his voice. "What is your name, and what _are_ you?"

"I," Arysa began, shaking her head. "My name is Arysa T'Remi, and I'm an asari matron," she explained.

"We found your ship – small thing," the human stated. "What are you and your friends doing here?"

Arysa hesitated, before answering. "We – we were scouting out the system," she explained truthfully, reluctant to look the alien in his eyes. "We'd found a new relay leading into this part of space – we're just explorers!"

The human nodded – Arysa noted the similarities in gestures of acknowledgement. "You say 'relay.' Is that the structure on the outskirts of the system? Big thing, blue glow in the middle?"

"Yes," the asari matron answered, feeling a little more comfortable. "We call them 'Mass Relays.' They're a form of long range space travel – the one here is new!"

"And who do you work for?" The man's eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer.

"The Citadel Council," Arysa said truthfully, blinking a few times. "They're – they're the governing body of known space. They're the ambassadorial heads of their respective—"

The human shook his head, waving a hand in dismissal. "I don't want to know everything. You'll be telling ORI all that later," he said. "Just tell me how you and your… _friends_ were imprisoned."

"By… by the other humans?" A nod. "We… not long after we arrived in-system, a bunch of ships appeared. They boarded our ship, and took us prisoner. Kept us in those cells on the planet."

"Did they question you? Did you tell them anything?"

Arysa shook her head. "No, they never did. Just… ignored us, for the most part." How could they have, anyways? She hadn't been able to understand the humans since…

"One final question," the human said, his mouth curling into a frown. "What did you do to him?"

The human captain pointed behind, and Arysa immediately knew who he was talking about. Guilt struck her expressions, and she looked away with closed eyes.

"I don't know about your species, but to a human, you look _very_ guilty," the man noted, glancing between the cells. "I'll ask you again – _what did you do_?"

"I… it was a mindmeld," Arysa began. She took a glance around the cell, as her friends were held at gunpoint. None of them dared to move – they could only let Arysa explain.

"What's a _mindmeld_? I assume it has to do with his mind?"

"It's…" Arysa coughed, sniffling back a rogue tear. "It's the most intimate form of relationship between an asari and a… _partner_." She sullenly looked the human in his eyes. "Usually done between a consenting pair, they open their minds to each other and reveal their innermost knowledge and selves.

It's also how asari… _reproduce_."

The human leaned back, shock in his eyes. His mouth hung open, words threatening to spill out yet nonexistent in the first place. He looked back, another pair of humans standing outside the cell, before returning his gaze to Arysa.

"And… did the man you _melded_ with…" His hands wove a circle. "Did he consent to this?"

Arysa chocked up a gasp, looking away. "No."

The human officer stood still for a moment, the cell completely silent. Even the guards watched with morbid interest, temporarily forgetting their charges as their captain took in this new information. After what seemed like millennia to Arysa, he turned around, motioning for the guards.

The humans left silently, not a word spoken between them as the cell door slid open, and then clanged shut with a proverbial ultimatum. Arysa watched their forms disappear around the corner, and then took a glance at the imprisoned marine across from them. She choked up a tear, then more, and within seconds Arysa was gasping for air as her weeps filled the silence.

A warm talon spread across her shoulders, yet it was not enough. Arysa could not forget her actions, as accidental as they were.

* * *

"Note – subject is displaying abnormal bodily functions."

A pencil scribbled upon a piece of paper, scratching at the parchment like an eagle's talon upon its prey. A small, bioluminescent light shone upon its surface, displaying notes and diagrams that one would generally find in the halls of academia. It was the only light in the room – dark, quiet.

Just how Doctor Agosto Rivers liked it.

"Body temperatures are rising. Signs of fever are noticeable."

A stark difference from his parents, who had always enjoyed basking in the limelight. While fame and recognition had been usual comforts to the late Mattia and Katalina Rivers, their child had deigned to avoid it.

Rather, the human scientist preferred to work in solitude – perhaps not the solitude of a lack of peers or friends, but instead that of obscurity.

"Subject's lungs are working harder than usual – significant stress noted."

Of course, no one could discount his parents' works. Hell, the entirety of the UER's weapons systems, from infantry grade arms to spinal-mounted naval cannons, was based on Mattia Rivers' compounded work of the historical Carl Friedrich Gauss – thusly named "Rivers-Gauss technology."

Further than that, Mattia Rivers, Agosto's father, had been a close peer and partner to both Richard Steymer and Julian Rausch, and had contributed immensely to either party's respective inventions – the Steymer Oscillation Drive, which had allowed humanity the capabilities of long-distance faster than light travel; and the Rausch Shock Drive, in turn used for short-range FTL.

And Katalina Rivers… well, Agosto would not have been alive, if it weren't for his mother, would he?

"Symptoms of cancer realized – maybe not, but a definite possibility."

Not biologically, of course. Katalina, the Geneticist, had not birthed Agosto through… _traditional_ means, and he was only glad that her work and forays into cloning technology would never come to fruition. Agosto had already taken means to bury her unfinished work, and leave it to rot.

Agosto Rivers' thoughts were interrupted by the sharp sound of a sliding door, a low buzz accompanying the clacks of heels on laminate. The scientist turned around, sighting a stark feminine figure silhouetted in the darkness. Quickly, he turned back to his work, taking one last glance at the small rat lying within its chambers before laying a tarp over the box.

Lights burst into action, Agosto's room exploding with color. The man blinked once, twice, adjusting to the sudden change as he squinted with abject annoyance.

A warm, slender hand was laid upon his shoulder. "Really, Agi," a gentle voice said. "Why do you insist on living in the dark all the time?"

Agosto turned around, taking his companion into account. The visage of one Doctor Leah Jojic greeted him, a slender brunette clothed in a stark white doctor's coat. Her long hair was pinned into a ponytail, and green eyes gazed warmly at him from behind a pair of glasses.

"I mean, really," Leah said, looking away. "I can't see how you could live like such an animal."

"Agi" chuckled, shrugging. He swept his blond hair from his eyes, leaning back on his desk. "It's easy. Though, please tell me next time you're going to rush into my quarters? I could at least _try_ and make it look presentable."

His assistant and partner nodded, smiling. "I guess I could do that," Leah said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, you aren't running any tests without me, are you?"

Agosto shook his head, turning away. "No," he lied, without a moment's hesitation. "Say, we lost a piece of the sample. Any idea where it could have gone?"

Doctor Jojic took a puzzled look. "Did we? No, I can't say I even knew." She frowned, turning away. Agosto followed her.

"Agi, that element is precious. The Republic's only found so much, and they gave it all to us," Leah explained, the pair walking together through the brightly lit halls of their laboratories. "We can't afford to lose any of it."

"I know, I know," Agosto muttered, raising his hands, palms forwards. "I'll look for it. Must have misplaced it somewhere." He turned to his companion, raising a brow. "Incredible element, though. Zero mass…"

" _Variable_ mass, actually," Leah corrected him, taking a glance out a window. Green fields and golden plains rolled past the horizon – Eden Prime was _quite_ the colony.

Doctor Rivers nodded, his mouth curled. "You're right, of course. The law of conservation of mass, _broken_ …" he whistled, putting his hands into his coat pockets. "So many scientists of old, rolling in their graves…"

Leah merely nodded, having no words. It was such a preposterous idea.

"Zero mass, before charged," Agosto mumbled, prompting Leah to glance at him. "How about we call it 'Element Zero?' Eezo for short!"

The brunette doctor stopped in her tracks, gazing at Agosto with an incredulous look. She stared at him for a few moments, before bursting out in laughter.

"Eezo!" she cried out, doubling over. "Eezo?! Agi, you've a great mind for physics and engineering, but _not_ , I'm afraid, for onomastics."

He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Oh, let a man have his fun, _Doctor Jojic_ ," Agosto said, emphasizing her name. "We don't have to give everything a right and proper name."

Leah made to respond, but before she could get a word out, a holographic display burst to life on Agosto's arm. A little tone accompanied the blue light – a joyful tune. The doctor gazed at the display, reading a name.

 _Fleet Admiral Vasily Mikhailov._

He looked back at his lab partner, frowning. "Hey, sorry Leah," Agosto shrugged. "It's the _Otets_. Probably wants something about the new Wyvern class. I'll talk to you later?"

The doctor turned around before Leah could respond, walking away as he pressed a finger to an ear. Leah Jojic rolled her eyes, giving a short hum, before turning in the other direction. She began to walk, making her way towards their facility's primary lab, before a thought popped into her head.

"Where's… where's my little Tara?"

She turned around, pressing into her pockets for the familiar bump, looking for a hiding rodent.

"Where's my pet rat?"

* * *

 **A/N:** **Hey, all. Welcome back to another chapter of _The Inheritance of Man_. Hope you enjoyed.**

 **I'm hoping that I'm not making Arysa too over-dramatic, but her actions and thoughts this chapter are supposed to be representative of her character. Someone who tries to be a leader, yet buckles under stress, and cannot always deal quickly with the effects of her actions.**

 **We've also been introduced to a couple new characters, and most, if not all, will take part in the story to some degree. _Especially_ the Shepards.**

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

JabbarRulez: **We'll get plenty as the story progresses. I prefer to give background information and worldbuild through the story itself, and not through blocks of exposition, timelines, or Codexes. Those were mistakes of previous stories.**

JsGuzman91: **We'll see a lot of the canon characters - many of them will take part in this story. For now, I will say that both Shepards mentioned in this chapter, besides Marcus the father, will be significant to the story. We'll start to see both John and Jane take an active part at around the same point in the story.**


	4. Prelude: Chapter Four - Tension

*****EMERGENCY MESSAGE –** _ **GS 2783 041117**_ *******

 **REPORT; SCTR 119; MSV TALESSIA – CTE 19881743**

 ****EMERGENCY MESSAGE –** _ **GS 2783 041117**_ ******

 _ **~~~POTENTIALLY HOSTILE ALIENS PAST RELAY 314~~~**_

~~~ _ **UNABLE TO ESCAPE~~~**_

 _ **~~~XUL PROTOCOL NOT ENACTED~~**_

 *****BREAK*****

* * *

A low sigh. It tremored with the hint of fear, the indefinite possibility of bubbling anxiety. Cool air flushed about, yet it did little to sate the rising melt of warming cheeks and alarmed, perspired pores.

Tevos, of the Citadel Council, placed her datapad upon the council bench. She ran a hand over her face, giving another sigh. Her mind was reeling, sent spiraling down a well of uncertainty by the emergency flash message she had just read.

A quick glance at her colleagues told her that they fared no better. Councilor Sann's bulbous eyes flittered like drunken pyjaks, and Jorius' mandibles were spread wider than those of any turian she had ever met in her millennia of existence.

Well, it wasn't as if many turians looked kindly upon her, these days. Nor did they take a liking to Sann.

The council was silent for several more moments, their aides standing awkwardly to the sides. The well-worn politicians, with years of experience under their belts, could not have prepared for the message they had just received.

Of course, it was always something to be _expected_ – perhaps a glancing option in the backs of their minds, as prosperous years continued to take hold in Citadel space. For, with the extent of yet unexplored territory within the Milky Way, it was only likely that at least a multitude of species lay dormant, unknown.

But to have such a discovery happen during _their_ tenures, in such a manner?

How unfortunate.

After several more moments of utter silence, Tevos cleared her throat. After all, she was their senior – by hundreds of years – and _damned_ if she did not take charge during such a dilemma. A crisis.

She wouldn't let Jorius take control, of all people.

"Right," Tevos began, her usually soft voice taking a tone of commanding respect. "We knew the risks. Activating dormant relays always carries these hazards – now, we need to discuss our immediate moves."

Jorius, to her right, stood silently for a moment, perhaps contemplating their options, before nodding his head.

"We need to act fast," the turian councilor declared, placing a hand down decisively. "Prepare some sort of defensive procedure, marshal the fleets. We _cannot_ let—"

Sann cut the turian off, shaking his head. "No, _no_ , we need to be cautious. We cannot afford to go flying into a sector of space we know nothing about." He brought up his arm, an orange hologram springing to life around his wrist. "I can contact the STG – perhaps we can send in some spy ships?"

Indignant at being interrupted, Jorius hissed, his mandibles flaring. "This is not the time for caution, Sann!" His eyes belied a certain fury, a distrust of his colleagues. "Every second we hesitate, we lost time to prepare. The aliens might be hostile, the _batarians_ might prepare their own investigations, because we damn well know our communications are not—"

"Why," Sann sputtered, the salarian glaring harshly at Jorius. "Do you _always_ have to bring the batarians up, Caio? Was it not enough to push them off the Citadel? Persecute them entirely?"

"They're slavers, Sann, what did you expect us to do? Sit back and watch as our people suffered?"

"We _expected_ the turians to police the galaxy, not rampage across it to beat everyone down with a turian lawbook!"

Tevos sighed, watching as her two colleagues hounded and bayed at each other. Of course, she remembered a time when this hadn't been the case – yet, tensions seemed to now flow freely between the "Big Three" of the Citadel Council.

She was ashamed to know that she and her fellow matriarchs weren't immune to the juvenile nature of it all.

"Councilors," she finally called, preventing their argument from going any further. "Back to the topic at hand, if we will."

Jorius and Sann, to their credit, looked back at Tevos. They nodded, settling down. She was thankful for that, if limited, degree of respect.

"Alright," Jorius muttered. "I'm sure the _asari_ have a wonderful solution. Some sort of compromise, maybe?"

Maybe not. Though she bristled, Tevos did not rise to the challenge. "Not quite a compromise, but something of the sort. Nothing has suggested that these aliens _are_ hostile." Sann made to speak, but the matriarch held up a hand. "We've little information to go off, and one message does not mean that the _Talessia_ and her crew are under duress."

"Then what do you suggest?" Jorius and Sann's querying eyes met her own.

"Send a diplomatic fleet. A couple of civilian vessels, accompanied by a Hierarchy flotilla," the matriarch answered. "Not too many – we don't want to look like conquerors. Just enough to protect our diplomats. A few frigates, perhaps a cruiser."

To Tevos' relief, Councilor Sann nodded, a hand at his chin. "A good move. If the aliens prove hostile, they should have enough protection to escape, report back to the Citadel. If not, then first contact will be much simpler."

"All in favor?"

Two hands raised. Councilor Jorius gave a reluctant, yet defeated, sigh, before he too raised a hand.

"At the very least, we can raise some military readiness levels – prepare the fleets. I'll contact Admiral Arterius, see if he has a good commander in mind."

"Then it is decided. This Council meeting is adjourned."

* * *

Caio Jorius stormed through the halls of the Presidium embassy, diplomats and civilians alike jumping out of the growling councilor's way. A trio of asari attendants flurried behind him, in a vain attempt to keep up with the furious turian, but as he reached the doors of his office, he waved them away.

The office doors slammed shut, a red lock appearing over the center. Still growling, Jorius slammed a talon over his arm. An orange display fizzled into appearance, keys flying past by the second.

"Damn asari and salarians don't realize we've a mounting inter-galactic crisis," he muttered furiously, standing abreast his office window.

Jorius' office was, surprisingly, a humble affair for a councilor. Perhaps eight by five meters long and wide, the room was barely decorated – a small painting beside the door, from the turian _Pars Culturae_ era, nearly seven thousand years before. There was a simple pot in a corner, a _teesko_ plant from Sur'Kesh, the scent of which Caio had developed a liking for, and a bowl of asari sweets on his desk, beside a blue terminal.

Popping one of the sweets into his mouth, Councilor Jorius returned to his omni-tool. A message was displayed on the orange screen. With the taste of an asari sweet fruit on his tongue, Caio read the message, marked from a particular friend and colleague of his.

' _Councilor Jorius,_

 _Per your requests, the 15th Auxiliary Kabalim has deployed a listening post in the Caleston Rift._

 _Routes have been tracked, and preliminary data from connected relays suggests mass movement of unidentified vessels towards the Attican Traverse._

 _Traces of element zero waste indicative of traveling vessels also suggests movement in, and out of, the Orion Arm._ '

Caio Jorius growled, his mandibles flaring. "Batarians," he muttered. He _knew_ they were up to something, but his colleagues simply did not want to hear it!

Shaking his head, the councilor continued to read.

' _Your belief that the Batarian Hegemony is smuggling vast amounts of resources in and out of the Attican Traverse may yet have some credit to it. However, the Hierarchy is not yet prepared to devote further resources to this task, and would like to prevent current mounting tensions with the Republics and the Union from developing any further._

 _In any case, I have contacted the satrap primarchs with the relevant information. Whether or not they prepare for any threats is up to themselves._

 _On a more personal note, Caio – I would please ask that you temper your nerves and your anger. My friend, I know you took your son's death on Oma Ker hard, but Flavian has been avenged, his murderers hunted down. There is no need to hound the batarians any further._

 _There are those in the Hierarchy that would see you demoted and stripped of rank. They see you as an agitator, desecrating our relations with the other Council species with reckless abandon. Our friendship is the only thing that has stopped them thus far. That, and my belief that Sparatus is not yet ready._

 _Listen to me, Caio. Your job is not the only thing on the line here._

 _Strength and honor,_

 _Primarch Fedorian.'_

* * *

"Your future with the Republic is not the only thing on the line here, corporal."

The bright light – it blinded him, a halo of accusation in the otherwise pitch black room. Victor Evans shook his head, trying to stir his mind from slumber.

The past few days had been a blur – the walls of that _fucking_ cell, bereft of any color, _any_ emotion. Nothing but bland food, no more than the thick paste of ground nutrients, and a water so shit he didn't truly believe it was really water.

Victor had barely gotten any rest, and the mindless days of deferent dormancy, piqued only by fading thoughts and unending reflection, had served to dull his conscious. He felt consigned to this fate, and the woman's voice in his ringing ears was a cold, hard truth.

His career in the Republic had seemingly come to a dead, cadaverous end.

"Are you _listening_ , corporal?"

Victor knew why he was being interrogated – it was those aliens – well, _alien_ , really, and what it – _she_ – had done to him. Read his mind, forced his thoughts open to her in a fit of panic. The colonies, the Republic, _Earth_. He had given them to her like money to a mugger.

But could he really blame the alien, in the end? Perhaps, but he knew that she was as much a prisoner as _he_ was now. And he could remember her fear – hell, he thought it had been his own, for a time. All mushed together like their minds had been.

And now, Victor was left with a much more _intimate_ knowledge of the asari species than he would have liked.

A smooth hand cupped his chin, pressing hard as he was forced to look into the eyes of his interrogator. A pale-skinned woman, her blue eyes a stark contrast from her flowing black hair. She spoke with an Earth accent – Australian, if Victor remembered correctly.

"I asked you a question, Corporal Evans. Answer me. Now."

Victor groaned, instinctively trying to shake his head again, yet he couldn't. She held him too tightly.

"I am, I am," he muttered, slowly blinking his eyes. "C'mon, you don't have to be so rough."

The woman chuckled, a surprisingly melodic tone that sent shivers down his spine. "Oh, _but I do_ ," she retorted, gazing back into Victor's eyes. "You see, important information about the United Earth Republic, and _humanity_ , may be compromised. And _who_ , my dear marine, do you think compromised it?"

They already knew – Victor could see no other truth. Of course they were playing with him. What else did he expect from such agents? Kindness? Gratitude? Charity? Ridiculous.

What did they want with him?

"You already _know_ ," Victor spat, unable to keep the resentment from his voice. "Can I at least say that I didn't mean to give anything up? For fuck's sake, I don't even _know_ if she remembers anything."

The interrogator simply smiled back at him, stepping back with her hands behind her back. "The alien? She does. Not much, from what she's told us. But, at the very least, thank you for answering one of our questions."

Victor leaned back – as much as he could – in indignation. "Wait, _what_?" he sputtered, shaking his head. "What, if I was listening to you? What do you mean? And what does _one of_ mean?"

Without words, the woman circled the chair he was chained to, stopping behind him. Two hands grasped his shoulders, and Victor felt her hair brushing against the back of his neck. He froze, a tinge of fear shooting through his body.

"How old are you?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, _Victor_. How old are you?"

He could feel the woman's hands press upon his shoulders, her nails scraping across his shirt. "Twenty-one. I'm twenty-one, almost twenty-two."

"And you were already blowing through the marine corps. Impressive." Her voice was smooth, sultry, but it only served to chill Victor's heart. "And what do you want to do? _How_ do you want to serve your nation?"

"The fuck kind of question is that?" he grunted, beginning to feel pain as the agent's hands clenched. "Fuck, could you let loose? Honestly, probably career military." he answered truthfully.

"Very ambitious." The woman released her grip, and Victor gasped in relief. "I'm sure you'll serve the Republic proudly."

Her words stung him, and Victor couldn't help but give a pained chuckle. "Yeah, well, I've screwed that up now, haven't I?" He tried to bring a hand to his shoulder, but cold steel bit into his wrists. His chair rattled angrily, accusingly.

"Not quite."

Victor's brows shot up, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

His interrogator moved opposite him, her icy blue eyes chilling Victor's bones.

"We have an offer for you," she smiled, tilting her head. "And, if you are to take it, then we'd be willing to forgive your… _small_ transgression."

Victor looked up at the woman, his mouth open. Every inch of his body screamed " _danger, danger!"_ but he couldn't help but ignore them. A light sparked inside his heart - one of hope.

He had been given a lifeline. Yes, of course, perhaps by one of, if not _the_ , most secretive and enigmatic, and probably wicked, organizations in the entire Republic, but what was the alternative? Most likely life in prison, or death. A traitor's fate. What other choice did he have?

The marine gulped, giving a final nod. The woman smiled. Slowly, she reached back, bringing something out. Something metallic, shining under the sole bright light of the room. A cold hand clutched one of his own, and Victor looked down to see what it was that the woman gave him.

A coin. On its face was a three-headed dog, snarling and growling. And three words.

 _Chasser les Faibles_.

"Corporal Victor Evans," the pale officer addressed him, and he looked back up. "When you're finding yourself out of options… When you find yourself alone…

Look for us.

* * *

Captain Marcus Shepard watched the interrogation proceed, as the young assault trooper was hounded and beleaguered by the intelligence agent. When she had first boarded the _Crusader_ , flanked by a pair of black-clothed guards, Marcus could practically _feel_ the atmosphere on the ship change. Introduced only as Agent Lawson, the woman practically had the entire ship held by a noose in a matter of moments.

The entire affair, wrought by the machine that was the Office of Republic Intelligence, rubbed the captain the wrong way.

A baritone voice interrupted his thoughts – he had almost forgotten Major Reyes was with him.

"What do you think?" the major asked Marcus, turning to the captain with quizzical eyes. "Hopefully our Corporal Evans won't be shipped off to some ORI prison somewhere. I hear he's a valuable asset."

Marcus shook his head. "They won't take him anywhere. I don't think _Agent Lawson_ intends to court martial him, or anything."

"Why do you say?"

Shepard pursed his lips, glaring through the interrogation room's window. "I didn't say he was in the clear yet. Making examples, taking political prisoners – that's not how ORI operates," he said, though he was not entirely sure of his own answer. "If the corporal was to be court martialed, on trial for compromising human secrets, then ORI wouldn't be involved. But if they _are_ interested…"

"Then he's not got the Office's slimy tentacles off him yet?" Reyes raised a brow, his features scrunching.

Marcus nodded. "They'll turn him into an asset. Maybe. Not sure. But I do know that marine will never be clean of ORI again. They'll watch him. Maybe forever. At the end of the day, he's on their 'list.'"

The pair turned away, leaving as the interrogation came to a close. They made their way through the ship, the bridge their destination. After a moment's silence, Reyes cleared his throat.

"I hear we've been re-attached?"

The captain nodded. "We have. Battlegroup Autumn – some detachment from the Fifth Fleet. Led by Rear Admiral Hackett."

"Already?" Reyes asked, his eyes widening. "Weren't they just supposed to be some sort of rapid response group they scratched up for this? I didn't expect us to get redeployed with them."

The Shepard patriarch shrugged, noticing that they had neared the bridge. Marines and sailors passed by, short salutes exchanged as the ship's crew went about their business. "Neither did I." He stopped for a moment, nearly causing the major to bump into him. "Frankly, I didn't know _what_ I expected. But maybe they want to move us off all this first contact business."

Garren Reyes frowned, though he did not seem to be otherwise disappointed. "Suits me. I'm no diplomat."

"Same," Marcus shook his head. "That's my wife's job. But from what I've gathered, we're diving straight back into the insurgent hunting business.

"In any case," the captain continued, nodding. "We're posted in this system for a while longer. The alien – _Arysa_." Marcus said, testing the name on his tongue.

"What about her?"

"She assured us that this… _Council_ , will either send a diplomat, or a military force. At this point, I'm not sure which I'd prefer. It all seems… _surreal_."

"I'd rather it was the former." Reyes deadpanned, raising a brow at Shepard as they passed into the bridge.

"Right, right."

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, all. Hope ya'll enjoyed this new chapter. Sorry it took a while. It's a bit shorter, because I decided to cut these next couple of parts in half - mostly due to the frequency of POV switches and breaks.**

* * *

 **Review Responses:**

 **Aptly-named** First part: **I'm of the belief that background information, such as things that you might normally see in a codex or timeline in stories on this site, is better reserved to be "shown," and not "told." I prefer to let all of this information, about the newly introduced factions, characters, and history, to be introduced naturally throughout the course of the story. Being given all of this information on a platter is boring to me, and is a signifier of dull, drolling, machine-like storytelling. In any case, if there's enough demand for a codex, which there has been a bit of already, and a timeline, I might consider placing one at the end of each "act."**

 **We're in the Prelude right now, which should be finalized within the next two, three, or four chapters, in case anyone was wondering.**

GeneralAllenWalker: **Not quite the Russian Revolution, but still very, very large. It's a full on war, don't get me wrong, but it hasn't completely taken over the UER's resources, territory, or time. In a sense, it's very...** _ **concentrated**_ **.**

: **Refer to my response to** First part.


	5. Prelude: Chapter Five - Envoy

_Ding._

" _Ambassador T'Mini_?"

Reah rolled around in her sleep, a blue hand reaching for the folds of her head to dull her sense of hearing. The covers were too warm, the sheets too comforting – she could sleep a little while longer, yes?

 _Ding._

" _Ambassador T'Mini_?"

Nevermind that incessant dinging. The matron scrunched her eyes, pressing her cheeks further into the silky cloth of the pillow, lavender scent and all. She blanked her mind, eager only to return to that sweet dream of her bondmate, and some nice 1674 Cybaen Honeywheat Wine.

 _Ding._

There it was again. Reah groaned in annoyance, grimacing. She could not recall, at the moment, why something in her luxury cabin was making that mindless sound. The only explanation she could scrounge was Alina, her personal VI and assistant – and it did not generally make such sounds, not whilst she was sleeping, unless Reah had given it an explicit order to do so.

Wait.

 _Ding._

Dinging?

The bedcovers flew into the air with a ruffle, Reah's blue legs flailing about as she made to sit up. With her tired eyes, she flicked around the room, finding the blue hologram of a clock upon a cabinet.

 _4:02._

"Alina!" the matron cried out with a gasp, looking towards the ceiling. "Alina, where are we?"

A single blue little light emerged above Reah, floating upon thin air. It gave a final ding, winking as if amused.

" _Good afternoon, Ambassador T'Mini_!" The VI sounded cheerful as always, which grated upon Reah's nerves. She wished the virtual intelligence could, for once, detect any sense of urgency.

" _You are currently in the luxury cabin aboard the Asari cruiser Thebas, on a diplomatic mission to the Attican Traverse._ "

Reah groaned, slapping her hand to a cheek. "No, no! I mean, where is the ship? Have we made it yet?"

" _The Thebas and her entourage are currently engaged in faster than light travel, on heading Galactic Southeast. Per Admiral T'Ria's last update, the Thebas is currently twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds from her destination_."

The ambassador sighed, before standing from her bed. She made her way towards a closet in a corner, quickly undressing.

"I told you to wake me up an hour before our destination!" Reah pointed out, pulling on a lavender and gold dress. Twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds, quickly counting down – she was only thankful she had the mind to shower the night before.

" _Correct, Ambassador_."

Reah rolled her eyes. She didn't bother asking why she was only waking up now. As annoyed as she was, Reah could not fault the VI. It was more than likely the virtual intelligence had begun its incessant beeping almost an hour before, and the matron had simply slept through it.

It wouldn't have been the first time. She enjoyed her beauty sleep.

With a few final touches, Reah T'Mini left her cabin, smoothing out her dress along the way. The blue little light, the VI, followed in her footsteps.

The ship's halls were, suffice to say, bustling with action. Asari crewmates were all over, attending to their stations, and Reah even saw a squad of commandos, suited up in black and white battlegear, hustling from the mess hall. A few, here and there, gave the Ambassador a little nod, salute, or wave.

Soon, she had reached the bridge, also full of activity. Aboard a raised platform was a tall matriarch. Reah came to a stop beside her, folding her hands together.

"Admiral T'Ria," Reah greeted, smiling. The matriarch turned, a grin upon her violet lips.

"Ambassador T'Mini. I see you're finally awake."

Reah nodded, before extending a hand. The admiral shook it gently, her grip light and loose. "Yes, I may have overslept. Alina has told me we're almost at our destination?"

Admiral T'Ria turned away, smirking. "Not almost. We're there."

Reah followed the matriarch's gaze, to the bridge's viewport. She could see the blue, almost jet-like haze of FTL travel. Yet, it was steadily ebbing away, revealing the inky blackness of open space.

"We're here. The Attican Aperture system, they're beginning to call it."

The ambassador nodded, her eyes wide in awe. Her colleagues had spoken about it – a new system, a new relay, and a whole new section of space. They knew not what was held behind the present relay.

Well, until now. Reah had some idea, from the Council's dossier. A new race – possibly hostile, and possibly friendly. There was so little information, and the matron prayed to Athame that it would be the latter.

She could hear the admiral's smooth, almost seductive voice, poking through her thoughts. "Do you see it? The relay?"

The admiral was pointing, and Reah followed her finger. Off, in the distance yet not too far away, was the recognizable figure. A pronged construct, almost like a tuning fork, with swirling blue rings in the middle. The Mass Relay, foreign and arcane, yet so familiar.

Admiral T'Ria spoke again. "I've just received word from the Hierarchy flotilla. Admiral Scopius is ready." The matriarch turned to Reah, staring imploringly at the ambassador. "All that's left is you. Do you think you're up to the task?"

A new race. A new section of the galaxy. In the worst case, they would all die. In the best case, the Citadel Council would welcome a new species to its fold. The latter was on Reah's shoulders, though she was only the one making contact – she was not the one to make the true diplomatic overtures.

The former, however? It was all out of her control, should the aliens be hostile. Unless, of course, Reah royally screwed up.

It all gave her a rather exhilarating sense of fearful excitement, the danger. Though Reah could not say she, perhaps, lived for it, as some of her peers might have, it was still part of the job. Still part of what she signed up for.

She had to be ready. Thus, Reah T'Mini gave the admiral a silent nod, swallowing once as her eyes bored into the relay in the distance.

Admiral T'Ria returned the gesture, before turning away. The matriarch motioned towards her crew, barked out a few commands, and steadily, the _Thebas_ drifted towards the mass relay.

Reah, for her part, already knew how she would open the discussions. She had no idea if the aliens knew their language – most likely not, but it was all the same to her.

" _Greetings. My name is Ambassador Reah T'Mini, of the Asari Republics and the Citadel Council. We come in Peace._ "

* * *

" _Greetings. My name is Ambassador Reah T'Mini, of the Asari Republics and the Citadel Council. We come in Peace._ "

Rear Admiral Steven Hackett glared into oblivion, a finger resting on his chin as he contemplated the message. Of course, he could not understand their words – no one in the ship could. At first, he had been stumped as to what to do – no amount of preparation could ready him for the sheer cliff that was the unknown.

The message repeated, multiple times – he knew where it was coming from. Not too long after his own flotilla – Battlegroup Autumn – had arrived in system, and taken the "First Contact" vessel, the RNS _Crusader_ , into its ranks, the "Mass Relay" at the far end of the system had activated.

Ships, vessels – many of them, in fact – had poured through, one by one, until there were nearly two dozen foreign – _alien_ – vessels drifting some leagues from Hackett's own RNS _Sunmaker_ , and the fourteen strong Battlegroup Autumn.

They hadn't moved since. That message had been sent, and they hadn't moved. Hadn't acted. Simply sat still, unadulterated, by that "Mass Relay."

"Mass Relay." He had some idea of what it did – the dossier he had received had contained information, gathered from the alien, and one of their own marines.

That same dossier had given him an answer. An alien who, somehow, could speak English, and a marine who, somehow, knew an alien language. It was all beyond him, but at this rate, he would take it.

Rear Admiral Steven Hackett gazed down, raising a data tablet in his hands. Useful technology, tablets – the product of two hundred years of evolution, from the primitive home "computer." Connecting to communication buoys throughout the Republic, it enabled the transfer of text-based information and messages from long distances.

At a very slow rate, albeit. And voice communication was limited to a vessel's QEC. Expensive stuff. At any rate, Hackett read the first message on his tablet, his eyes scanning the words.

 _From: Commander Jackson Fortunis_

 _Subject: FWD; FWD; FWD; FWD; Fortis Clibanarii_

 _Message: From Admiral Mary Ishimura:_

 _Clearance to:_ **ENGAGE** _;_

 _Clearance to:_ **DEFEND** ;

 _Clearance to:_ **PARLAY** _;_

 _At your discretion_.

 _FIN_

It was nice to have official clearance, but that wasn't on his mind right now. Hackett moved onto the next item.

 _From: Captain Marcus Shepard_

 _Subject: Personnel Transfer – Temporary_

 _Message: High Value Target Xenia and Corporal Victor Evans are on the way._

Hackett nodded to himself, deactivating the tablet and setting it down. In any case, it was now a matter of waiting and, considering the length of time that had elapsed since the message had arrived, he wouldn't have to wait any longer.

In fact, he could hear the bridge doors opening behind him right now.

Smiling, the admiral turned around, hands clasped behind his back. Two figures walked into the bridge, escorted by a cadre of black-clad marines. For the first time, Hackett laid his eyes on an alien, albeit cuffed. She was… surprisingly human, though blue, and gazed around the bridge with a combination of fear and wonderment.

The pair were marched up to Hackett, and he gazed upon them with hard eyes. The marine, dressed in clean, casual BDUs, saluted on the spot, snapping to attention.

"Admiral!" the marine exclaimed, and Hackett took a better look at the young man. He was Caucasian, his brown hair clashing with a pair of green eyes. Sewed upon his BDUs was a patched emblem – a yellow griffon, dancing around a black sword. Hackett grunted – he recognized the patch of the Special Assault Unit.

"At ease," Hackett finally said, and the marine dropped the salute. He then turned to the alien. "Can you understand me?"

She – he assumed the _asari_ was a she – nodded. "Yes, sir. I can."

"Good," Hackett responded. "Now, they didn't tell me your name…"

"Arysa T'Remi."

The admiral nodded, though he felt a tinge of curiosity behind the name. "Noted. Do you know why I called you here?"

The asari stared blankly, her eyes flicking towards the bridge's viewport. "I have some idea. Those are Citadel vessels out there, by the Mass Relay. I assume they've sent some sort of… message?"

Hackett raised a brow, turning away. "You'd be correct in that assumption, Miss… T'Remi," he hesitated on her surname, testing the words on his tongue. "I would like you to translate this message, and any further ones, for me.

"And you, Corporal," Hackett regarded the marine coolly. "As the only human here who can understand their language _at the moment_ , you will make sure there is no foul play afoot. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

The admiral swished his hand before him, in a circular motion. The message played again, on command, and they heard the alien words once more.

" _Greetings. My name is Ambassador Reah T'Mini, of the Asari Republics and the Citadel Council. We come in Peace._ "

Hackett could see Arysa muttering beside him, her eyes wide. A brow raised, the admiral coughed, gazing at the asari expectantly.

"So?"

"Oh! Sorry, sorry… I should have known the Council would have sent a well known ambassador." Arysa said, shaking her head. "They – it's a greeting. The ambassador's name is Reah T'Mini – they're saying they come in peace."

Hackett could see the asari breathe out a sigh, at the last word, and evidently in relief – the marine beside her nodded in affirmation.

"Good."

The admiral turned away, crossing his arms as he addressed the bridge crew. "Comms! Duplicate that message channel, set up our own. Prepare a flashburst."

Behind him, the asari went wide-eyed, looking around in fear. "F-flashburst?"

"Low-bandwidth message," Hackett reassured her, turning around to give Arysa a nod. "Short in duration, low quality, but can fit just about any communication channel. Good for situations like this. I know it sounds rather dramatic."

"Right."

Hackett then turned to the marine, coughing. "Corporal, I'm going to need something else from you. You have a good grip on that language of theirs?"

The marine nodded. "Yes, sir, I assume so."

The admiral pursed his lips. "Assumptions will have to be good enough. Speak on my command, repeat what I say – 'This is Rear Admiral Steven Hackett of theUnited Earth Republic. We accept your peace.'"

A green light turned on, signaling the recording. The marine repeated the message, before looking back at Hackett.

"'We are in possession of several beings who claim to belong to the _Citadel_ _Council_ ,'" Hackett continued, giving the marine a second to relay his words. "'They are led by one _Arysa T'Remi_. Please confirm.'"

Thus, they waited, Hackett counting away the seconds as they awaited a response. It did not take too long – minutes later, another message pinged upon the display before the admiral. He ordered for it to be played.

" _Matron Arysa T'Remi is one of ours, Captain. We must ask that, in a gesture of peace, she and her crew be returned to us._ " Said asari translated the message, and Hackett could almost see a glint of hope within her. _"Further, we would request to set up a full diplomatic mission_."

Hackett stood silently, and he could feel the eyes of his crew, and all those present, on him. He never would have expected to be in charge of such a… _pivotal_ moment in history, yet here he was all the same.

Now, the question stood – returning the alien crew to their people, in a "gesture of peace," as that "Ambassador T'Mini" had called it. He couldn't tell, through his charge's voice, if such words had carried with them a token of condescension or the like, but he would not make such an assumption. Not now.

Yet, there was a chance, an opportunity, here. A ransom, or something of the sort – to gain something, _win_ something, for the United Earth Republic, in exchange for the easiest of grants. But what would it be?

Hackett thought back to Captain Shepard's report, to glean anything he could, and remember anything he might have missed. Scratching his chin with an idle hand, the admiral recalled an addendum to the report – a small vessel, recovered from the base on Signis IV – foreign, alien, brimming with unknown and uncharted technology. A suitable ransom, perhaps?

Yet, he wasn't sure whether these asari, and their ambassadors, had any idea that the _Crusader_ and her crew had captured such a valuable bounty. Probably not – how could they? They might have assumed it destroyed, gone – there was no need to even bring it up, was there?

Hackett's decision was made. The ambassador needn't know of such a detail. Leaving it out would be fine, and after all – some goodwill would be made here. A little bonus, an overtime paycheck. Perhaps they would expect Hackett to ask for some form of ransom, some compensation, and to receive no _apparent_ demand would be a nice surprise indeed.

"Granted. We'll prepare Miss T'Remi and her crew for transport immediately," Hackett said, listening as the marine relayed the message. "Now, I'd like to hear about these diplomatic missions. What do you propose?"

" _We propose that full diplomatic overtures be held on the Citadel – the governmental center of the galaxy,"_ the asari ambassador responded. " _We will provide information such as location, entry and contact protocol, and preferred security details. Further, we will provide information on galactic customs, language, and species. We hope you will forward this offer to your superiors_."

"How _assuming_ ," Hackett muttered, unamused. Nevertheless, he made to respond. "Accepted, Ambassador. Now, we expect this… _flotilla_ , of yours, will henceforth leave sovereign human space."

" _Human?_ "

"Our species," Hackett explained, shaking his head. "Which is why we will provide an information docket of our own." He looked away, nodding at the bridge's communication crew. "Comms, the _Sunmaker_ does have a First Contact package, yes?"

They responded in the affirmative, and the admiral nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. Never thought it'd actually come into use."

* * *

Five humans sat around an oval-shaped table, black – possibly of ebony, with some ivory trimmings. It was an expensive table, notably, not one seen strewn across the Republic, yet… there was a certain subtlety about it. A secrecy, between a covenant – an oath to serve.

Perhaps that was, after all, the point. These five _citizens_ composed the entirety of the United Earth Republic High Command. The leaders, the governors – they were above the Senate, above the petty politics and squabbles of the officer cadre. After all, it was their own merit and ability that had gotten them in their chairs.

Fleet Admiral Vasily Mikhailov regarded those around him. They were his equals – perhaps not necessarily in military stratagem or the like, but his equals nonetheless. To his left sat the Prime Minister of the Republic herself – Vivienne Aveline. She still bore the marks of her own tours of duty, so long ago; a scar down the cheek of her francophone aspect, and a quite a few whites abound in her brown hair. It was rare to see an aged citizen of the Republic that didn't bear such old marks, in the first place.

And to his right was Admiral Mary Ishimura. A curious case – a _dangerous_ case, for she was the head of the Office of Republic Intelligence. That was all that needed to be said.

Across from Vasily were two more individuals – the General of the Army himself, Kelechi Ejiofor, glaring back at the admiral with bitter eyes; and beside the good general was Commissioner Ross Barker. Perhaps the most _civilian_ of them all, yet not without good measure – civilizations and empires had always come to rely on trade and market.

And he was the Fleet Admiral – the supreme commander of the Republic's entire Navy and Marine Corps. Notable indeed.

They sat in silence, for just a few more moments, regarding each other – measuring each other. Powerful men and women, certainly, and respect was demanded, more than requested. Finally, the Prime Minister cleared her throat, with a rough cough.

"Right," she began, the hints of a Frankish accent tinting her voice. "We meet here, as always, with important matters to discuss. I'm sure you've all read the news, and heard the smalltalk?"

They all nodded – who didn't know, at this point? Groundbreaking news that might have toppled lesser peoples in the past.

"Good. Expected, nonetheless, but good," Vivienne said, raising a datapad. "We'll get to that matter on time. First of all – the economy."

All eyes turned to the Commissioner, who grinned, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm happy to report that the market is growing in power. We've new contracts and investments in most, if not all, of our military-industrial ties, though Langley Armories and Hahne-Kedar _did_ try and put up some resistance. Sanctions _will_ be in order.

"With the exception of a few minor disturbances, the insurgents have mostly been quiet. A few trade routes and convoys have been hit, but I hear they've mostly been taken care of. Not nearly a notable effect on the market."

Before continuing, Commissioner Barker cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. The man, notably the youngest of all his peers, was evidently uncomfortable, at the very least, with his next words.

"I've reports on a new ore, a new… _element_ , recently found throughout many of our systems," Ross Barker continued, reading from a datapad. "We've not much, and we've sent what samples we have to one Doctor Agosto Rivers. We're finding more by the day, though."

"Interesting," the Prime Minister responded, raising a brow. "I'll look forward to hearing more about these reports in due time, Commissioner Barker. Thank you."

Ross Barker nodded, leaning back in his seat with a content grin. Aveline continued, questions on her mind.

"Now, this Doctor Rivers… I've heard of him." She turned to Admiral Mikhailov, frowning. "His cadre are the lead scientists on the Wyvern project, yes?"

The fleet admiral nodded. "Both the Wyvern and Normandy projects, yes," he answered. "Though, I do have to note, the Normandy project is having some issues. Not enough budget, not enough manpower. They need more than we can supply."

"Unfortunate," the prime minister gave her thoughts. "Well, since you're already speaking, Fleet Admiral, what other reports do you bring to the table today?"

"A few things of note," Vasily replied, pursing his lips. "The RNS _Crusader_ – you all know of this vessel, yes?" There were nods around the table – the ship had made headlines throughout the Republic already. "Captain Marcus Shepard and his crew have been reassigned. They are now operating under Battlegroup Autumn and Rear Admiral Steven Hackett."

"Hackett?" a voice to his right said. Admiral Mary Ishimura looked at Vasily, eyes wide. "I've heard good things about the man."

The fleet admiral nodded, smiling as he cupped a hand around his chin. "Yes, indeed. I have some hopes for the man. But regardless, Hackett and Autumn will be redeployed to Sector Arcadia, bordering the Skyllian Verge." He closed his eyes, leaning back as he crossed one leg over the other. "Insurgency activity on the borders has increased, contrary to what the good Commissioner has said."

All eyes turned briefly to Barker, whose expression remained blank.

"Admiral Kahoku and the 7th Fleet have encountered heavy resistance at Grassroots, and we've reports of a drastic uptick in insurgent activity along the Skyllian frontier," Vasily continued, taking a brief glance at General Ejiofor. "I'm sure Kelechi can tell us more about that, but regardless – Battlegroup Autumn, and Admiral Hackett, will report directly to me in the coming months. I have my suspicions."

The table was quiet, for a few moments, as they all contemplated the implications of the admiral's words. An increase in insurgent activity was never good, and whatever the rebels had planned, likely meant to hurt the Republic.

Finally, Admiral Ishimura coughed, fiddling with a datapad.

"Vivienne, I assume you'd have me report now?" she asked, smiling daintily. The Prime Minister nodded, her eyes no longer blank with thought.

"Yes, Mary – do go on."

"Right," the Asian woman began, clearing her throat. "I'll bring the conversation back to the good Admiral Hackett. They've made contact with an alien ambassador – diplomats."

All eyes turned to the intelligence officer, beckoning her to continue.

"We've received a bounty of information on not just one, but _many_ different alien civilizations and cultures. They've an entire government and civilization, based around what they call the _Citadel Council_ ," Ishimura explained. Brushing her long hair from her eyes, the admiral continued. "We've also received on offer, to meet with said Council, and establish diplomatic relations.

"We've already got scientists, linguists, and super-computers running over the details. We'll have neural translators for their languages ready by the morrow, I expect, and a full dossier containing multiple alien behavioral analysis. This is all compounded by information gathered from one of my agents, regarding a marine aboard the RNS _Crusader_."

"Understood," the prime minister finally acknowledged, shifting in her own seat. "We should discuss this offer of theirs – to meet this Council, on the _Citadel_. I propose we send an envoy, and answer their call. Thoughts?"

Commissioner Barker, on one hand, nodded in agreement, but Admiral Ishimura and General Ejiofor expressed their reservations.

"With all due respect, madam Prime Minister," the General began, leaning forth as he cupped his dark hands. "We must exercise caution. We have little to no information on these aliens, and what they intend. I won't send an envoy and their security to their deaths."

Admiral Ishimura hummed in agreement. "The general is correct. We need to be careful about this."

"But an entire alien civilization – the economic implications are boundless!" Ross Barker responded, raising his hands. "Trade, marketshare – think about it!"

Before anyone could reply to the Commissioner, Prime Minister Aveline raised a hand. "We'll vote on it. All in favor of sending an envoy?"

Aveline kept her hand up, whilst Barker joined her. Two hands raised, three hands down.

"All in disagreement?"

Two hands raised, three hands down. One man had not voted. All eyes turned to the fleet admiral, and Vasily Mikhailov returned their stares.

"Admiral Mikhailov. Your thoughts?"

He did not respond immediately, leaning back in his chair. A hand was on his knee, fingers tapping on the bone. Seconds passed, almost minutes, before finally Vasily cleared throat with a rough cough.

"An isolationist policy will do us no favors," the admiral said, wishing he'd a cold bottle of vodka at the moment. "Our options here are to gamble on peace, or to snub in altogether, and for all we know, we could be surrounded.

"I'd rather gamble on it."

The Prime Minister smiled, nodding. "Then it is decided. We'll send a pair – Ambassador Anita Goyle and Ambassador Donnel Udina will be sent to the Citadel. Thoughts on a security detail?"

Admiral Ishimura's response was instant. "November Group. Any of their teams, we need the best of the best. I have an eye on a particular team."

"Oh?" Brows were raised, lips pursed.

"November Team SL-177, callsign "Silent Lamb," Ishimura continued, smiling. "Anderson has always produced. He will again."

* * *

 **A/N: It's been a while. That's my bad - I got real stuck, trying to begin this chapter, couldn't get anywhere with it, and got distracted by college. Hopefully it doesn't happen again.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Let me know if there are any issues.**


	6. Prelude: Chapter Six - Citadel

**A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? I know I said it wouldn't be so. Apologies.**

 **BIG, BIG NOTICE , by the way - I did make some major changes to Chapter Four - namely the part where Victor Evans is interrogated. Go back and check that out - big plot-affecting changes, and you might not understnad some stuff that happens later in this chapter without reading the updated part.**

 **Also, minor change to the end of Chapter 5, but that's not as important.**

 **END BIG NOTICE.**

 **Anyways, on with the chapter. Hope ya'll enjoy.**

* * *

The Citadel Docks E32 were, as always, bustling with activity. Peoples of all races and species hustled here and hurried there, all with some manner of business, some sort of engagement. It was a civilian dock, rather than military, but that was not to say soldiers were not present. Most were those on leave, dressed in military casuals aptly named "civvies" as they ambled about; meeting loved ones, gallivanting towards fun in groups, or simply enjoying the scenery.

Peera Neriya was on the lookout for one of these soldiers on leave. Her little blue eyes scanned the docks for an aged turian officer with orange face-paint, a similarly blue little hand clasped firmly in her mother's grasp. She was sure her father would be here – why wouldn't he? After all, it was her seventeenth birthday, and while her father was getting on in age, he had promised to align his leave with "her day."

There was no sign yet of the turian, and Peera began to grow nervous. She gazed up at her mother, her eyes watering. There was no reason for him to not show up – they had gotten word, a message, the day before, yet she could not help but worry.

"Mother," Peera whispered, grasping her hand a bit tighter. "Father won't be long, will he?"

The older asari looked down upon her daughter, smiling. "I'm sure he'll be along shortly. Lots of traffic around the docks. Would you like to watch the ships?"

Woes temporarily forgotten, Peera's eyes glistened with excitement. She nodded furiously, bounding off towards the expansive, blue-tinged windows of the docks. The little girl stopped herself on the railings, quickly joined by her mother as they gazed out into space.

The arms of the Citadel reached far into the expanse, vast fields of blue and grey upon an amethystine canvas. Peera recalled her lessons, her teachings – the Serpent Nebula, it was called - named after the violet-velveteen reptiles of Thessia that the breadth of celestial gas and dust seemed to bring to mind. A beautiful sight, and a fitting locale for the center of galactic culture and society.

Yet, as Peera and her mother watched the sky-sailing vessels of various form and shape whiz by, they could not help but notice something strange. And it wasn't just them, either – crowds of citizens, tourists, soldiers and all began to form, gathering along the balconies as they gazed out the blue-tinged windows. The air became fraught with murmurs and gasps, as people pointed towards some far off place.

In the distance, perhaps thousands of leagues from the Citadel's arms, a… bubble formed. Peera had no other word for it, in her juvenile mind – yet bubble was, somewhat, an apt word to describe the phenomena. An iridescent, perhaps even _opalescent_ , spheroid, elongated, took shape, yet it was large enough for Peera to distinguish the curves along its edges.

The bubble grew, and grew, and grew even more, and the asari child felt a hand slip back into her own, tense and shaking. Peera gazed up at her mother, yet could see the faces of those around her – concerned salarians, their eyes wide, turians with drooping mandibles, and even the odd hanar, their ceaseless float seemingly wavering.

Peera returned her attention to the bubble, watching as the opal seemed to reach a precipice, a limit in its growth. Then, as it seemed to grow no longer, _hunger_ no longer, it…

 _ **Ssssssnap**_ _!_

The bubble collapsed upon itself with incredible force, proceeded by a fierce thunderclap – yet there was no thunder, no storms, upon the Citadel. But, something was in its place.

More than just "something."

It was long, far longer than it was wide, with great wings that spanned its entire length. Peera could see tiny thorns bristling all over its flanks, as if it were some ferocious animal warning " _get back!_ " And it was grey, such a dark grey it was nearly black, with wine red-crimson trails painted down the wings.

Peera did not know the words, yet she realized the concepts, base as they were. Sleek, yet utilitarian - bred for _war_ , yet with a flair for theatrics. It was large – not nearly as large as the _Destiny Ascension_ , perhaps, but nearly twice the size as that of a typical turian dreadnought.

And though she could not read the script, understand the language, Peera could distinguish the purely extraterrestrial script along its flank.

 **RNS Emerald Herald**.

All such attention was on the _Herald_ , whatever that meant, such that few noticed those smaller figures at its side. But Peera noticed – she saw the ships, for _they were very clearly ships_ , and in her mind, juvenile as it was and lacking the centuries of knowledge of her forebears, she knew that the galaxy would never be the same again.

* * *

" _Radio check_. _November Group S, L, one-seventy-seven, report in when green._ "

" _Coats is green._ "

" _Leng, green._ "

" _Shepard is green._ "

" _Anderson is green_. _Call-signs are now in play – Silent Lamb, operation is a go. Tac-Visors on._ "

In the darkness, a fist clenched. With a high-pitched whine, the world lit alight, and First Lieutenant Jane Shepard could _see_.

They were in the cabin of a UT-441 "Condor" dropship, a red haze emitting from a single, lonely light above her. There were three other figures, outlined in green, with her, all of them fitted in black hardsuits and closed-face helmets. Red-tinged polarized visors gazed back, a motley of weapons holstered on their backs, hips, and otherwise.

Shepard read off the names appearing on her Tac-Visor's heads-up-display. One of the figures was stood up, a hand grasped around a handhold on the ceiling of the cabin. "Anderson: Bishop," the name read – her commanding officer, and mentor. She herself was "Phoenix." A bit melodramatic, but she'd take it.

The other two figures cut similar male proportions – one "Coats: Voodoo," accompanied by a "Leng: Sabre." Her other two squadmates, filling out SL-177, "Silent Lamb." November Group.

Jane felt pride flow through her body – November Group was among the best, if not _the_ best, soldiers the United Earth Republic had to offer. There were more than a few teams, of course – given the high population of the entire Republic, it only made sense. November, the "crème de la crème" of Special Warfare Command, SPECWARCOM, was built for high-risk special operations, counter-terrorism, and even black operations, in some special cases.

Yet, in this instance, it seemed November would be drawn to more… _civilian_ needs. Namely, those of politics and diplomacy.

Everyone in the Condor's cabin knew their job today – the renown ambassador, Anita Jennifer Goyle, was on a mission to some alien government station, aboard one of the Republic's powerful Vector-class Battlecruisers, the RNS _Emerald Herald_. And SL-177, "Silent Lamb," was responsible for her safety and well-being.

Jane's parents had always told her that she had a knack for politics and diplomacy – "a real talker," her mother had once said, and it showed. Yet today, Jane could only be thankful she wasn't on the line to represent humanity to… a galactic community of aliens, as Anderson had put it, earlier in the mess hall.

A low cough caught Jane's attention, and she turned to see Anderson motioning for the team. The young lieutenant leaned forwards, eager to hear her mentor's words.

"Right," Anderson began, his voice distorted and crackled through the radio. "I'm going to go over the plan one last time, so listen up."

"Two shuttles, five escort Kestrel fighters. Shuttle One is us – pilot's designated 'Companion Four." Anderson adjusted his grip on his handhold, stretching his back in the process. "The ambassador and her retinue are aboard Shuttle Two, 'Companion Six.' Goyle is designated 'White Eagle.'

"Once we land, we all file out, weapons at the ready. Do not, and I mean do not engage unless already fired upon, and you've ID'd your target. And I do not need to stress, gentlemen, that the ambassador's safety comes first?"

Anderson was met with shaking heads and a trio of "no, sir's", and he nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good."

Jane watched her commanding officer shuffle down the cabin, leaning into the cockpit. She heard them exchange a few words, but couldn't distinguish them. After a moment, Anderson returned.

"We're three mikes out," the captain said, holding up three fingers. "Everyone, gear check. I want your weapons ready in two mikes."

Shepard nodded, moving a hand towards her back. With a gentle tug, the magnetic holster released her weapon of choice – an R64C "Adaptive Combat Carbine." A shortened version of the UER's go-to designated marksman's rifle chambering 8mm rifle rounds, and with a powered scope to boot, the R64C was a suitable medium between a true marksman's rifle, and a typical service weapon. Ever the impatient marksman, Shepard found it perfect for her needs.

At her hip, Jane bore an R71, commonly denoted as the "Falx" by Republic infantryman. It was something of an unusual weapon, not typically carried by the every-day UER marine. It was for good reason – "handcannon" was more apt a description, given its pure stopping power, than simply "sidearm" or "pistol." Yet, the young Shepard felt an attachment to her sidearm, as the multiple notches on its barrel could confirm.

With a glance upwards, Shepard could see the time elapsed – nearly two minutes had passed since Anderson had last spoken. Perfect timing, as always.

As if to mimic her thoughts, Anderson coughed again, "ETA one mike. Silent Lamb, on your feet. Safeties on."

Grunting, Shepard stood up. Coats and Leng soon followed, each clutching their own firearms. Coats, the gruff Englishman, carried the squad's "automatic rifle" – an R27 light support weapon – whereas Leng seemed content with the compact R212. Small, sleek, and internally suppressed, it rang true with Kai, the sneaky bastard.

And Anderson, always the simple grunt at heart, was happy with the bog-standard. He held a SCAR, the UER's standard issue service rifle, and stood facing his team. He nodded once, pointing up. As if on cue, the hazy red light above them flashed once – green – before returning to its original color.

" _Fifteen seconds!_ " a feminine voice called through their radios – their pilot. " _We're passing through some force-field now. Looks like some sort of hangar.'_ "

"Here we go, team," Anderson motioned towards Coats. "Voodoo, take point. Phoenix, you're with me on the right."

They shuffled around – Coats and Leng on the left, while Anderson and Shepard took the right. Shepard looked up – the light flashed green once more, and then once again. Five seconds left – touchdown awaited.

With a halting jolt, the shuttle stopped, for just a moment, and Shepard could feel the gravity within the cabin shift downwards, softly. It always seemed to remind her of an elevator reaching its destination – perhaps similar, in theory.

Then, the light shifted one last time, to green – and it remained so. Shepard knew it was time – before them, the dropship's bay doors slowly creaked open, a ramp sliding down to make way for the representatives of the UER.

Light flooded the cabin – a blueish hue, gentle and piacular. Almost as if it were an offering of peace, Shepard felt, but she sorted that thought to the side. As one, Silent Lamb stepped forwards, leaving the fleeting peace of the Condor.

And then, Jane felt her veins flow with shock – apprehension, unease, perhaps a mote of _fear_. Her fingers wrapped tightly around her marksman's carbine, her lips pursing and her eyes widening within the confines of her helmet, for she saw _them_.

A sea of colors and shapes, sizes and forms, motley and disparate, reaching farther than the eye could see. The vast majority were held back, an orange hologram… a _cordon_ , maybe, holding them back. Bursts of white light flashed all over, from floating little drones – cameras, Shepard knew. Media.

Yet, Jane knew she had no time to analyze the crowd – except for potential threats. Even as the November team marched in cadence towards the second shuttle, thirty paces forth with their weapons borne high, they scanned the dense crowd. They looked for conniving eyes, fearful little shuffles, and perhaps even a traitorous mind within one of those aliens holding the crowd back, fringed and armored blue.

Every single alien within the large hangar was a potential threat. Whether they would make the transition from _potential_ to _actual_ , was yet to be seen.

Shepard only counted fifteen seconds, yet it seemed like a century. She allowed herself to let loose a gasp of air when they finally reached the ambassador's shuttle, closely waiting for their next move.

No call was needed, no ceremonial shout of unity and intimidation. As one, Silent Lamb snapped their feet together, the air _clacking_ with the sound of polished metal and leather, before shifting left. Their right foots rose, before slamming back down on the floor.

Jane could see a wave pass through the masses, murmurs of fear and awe accentuated by her helmet's auditory receptors. Yet, she paid them no mind – as fascinating, _and humorous_ as it was to see such a _human_ reaction from aliens, she couldn't afford to be distracted.

Behind her, Jane heard a low _hiss_ , that of depressurized air, and the mechanical sound of a descending ramp. Booted footsteps rang behind her, five human figures soon passing between the ranks of Silent Lamb. One woman and two men, in dress white-blues, and two armored men, rifles at the ready. Personal bodyguards.

"Chaperone, Silent Lamb," Anderson's voice called through the radio. "Be advised, White Eagle has arrived. No danger yet."

In honesty, Jane had yet to actually _see_ this so-called "Chaperone." Silent Lamb's new _handler_ , supposedly. Not that she cared much – she supposed it was Anderson's job to meet with the handler, rather than hers.

" _Copy that, Silent Lamb. Proceed with caution, follow the ambassador._ "

Ahead of them, Ambassador Goyle stood waiting. It appeared as if a few of the aliens had apprehended her - blue skinned, and rather eerily _human_. Asari. Diplomats of the Citadel Council, mono-gendered and proud. Jane had done her homework – Leng couldn't tell her otherwise.

They were flanked by two taller aliens, wielding what were clearly firearms of some sort, and suited up in heavy, blue armor. Mandibles, rather than mouths, and fringes along the backs of their heads.

Turians. The military arm of the Citadel – highly militaristic. Tribal, one could even say.

Jane could not help but listen in on the diplomats' chatter.

"Ambassador Anita Goyle, United Earth Republic. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

The human ambassador extended a hand, and the lead asari looked down at it, hesitating for a moment before taking the hand.

"Ria T'Leros, assistant to the Council," the asari smiled warmly. Jane thought it was _too_ warm. "You'll have to forgive me, ambassador – new customs always take some getting used to, yes?"

Goyle nodded, seemingly in understanding. The asari spoke again.

"Now, the Council is waiting for you, ambassador. If you'll follow me?"

The alien envoy departed, motioning for the humans to follow. They did, and Jane watched as the sea parted. _'Funny – it's more blue than red this time,'_ she thought, suppressing a chuckle.

* * *

A… rather _long_ , and awkward, elevator ride later, they arrived in a room that Jane could only describe as "grandiose."

There seemed to be a strange, somewhat lavender hue in the air. Trees, their leaves rosy and pink, lined a marble walkway, flanked by fountains marked with strange statues and edifices. Shepard entertained the thought that the trees themselves caused the rubicund tint in the air, but at that, some mote of alarm sprang into her mind.

"Some mist in the air," she spoke into her radio, head pointed forwards yet eyes glancing all over. "Gas, maybe? Something to keep an eye on."

"Noted," Anderson's voice returned. "Team, keep scanning. Watch for threats."

A few short moments passed, before Leng spoke up. "Identified four potential hostiles. Twelve o' clock high, reference the balconies on the windows."

Jane glanced upwards, and indeed she could spy four different silhouettes. They were hunched over and, if she was correct, looking straight at them. Jane knew their purpose.

"Those are snipers, Sabre. Keep an eye out for more," Jane nodded to herself, clutching her marksman's carbine even tighter.

"Voodoo, identified multiple targets." It was Anderson, this time. "Far flanks, two pairs on either side. Prioritize for suppression."

"Wilco."

"Identified further targets." Leng. "Thermal's got eight humanoids posted outside the windows – hanging on ropes. Probable rappelling targets."

"Copy that. Eight hostiles on standby, outside the windows. Think that's too much for us?" Chuckles all around.

Jane realized that the ambassador had stopped, looking upwards at a large podium – ' _larger than any podium had any right to be_ ,' she thought with a snort. Above them were three figures – a turian, asari, and salarian.

"Must be the holy trio," Leng vocalized his thoughts, evidently amused. "Think this is the so-called Council?"

"Affirmative. Sabre, things go south, you know who our priority hostages are."

Jane could hear the man in question chuckle darkly. "Solid copy, Bishop."

A bit harsh. Probably not the most _civilized_ option in mind. But Anderson had his ways, as Jane knew, and damned if they weren't effective.

Minutes passed – too long, in Jane's mind, yet she knew that in true diplomatic fashion, likely nothing had gotten done yet. She found herself a bit bored; despite the threat of several alien guns, and _sniper rifles_ , currently pointed at her head, there was only so long a girl of action like her could remain standing still.

So, _she listened_. Technically, she wasn't supposed to – they were _supposed_ to be keeping an eye out for threats, and not distract themselves, as the true cream of the Republic crop wouldn't.

Did she care, though?

… Not particularly.

"The Republic has a long and storied history, Councilor," Ambassador Goyle stated, standing straight. "I'd be happy to share what I can, but I'd _prefer_ it to be on equal ground. Staring so far up there does make my neck hurt, after all."

Jane snorted. Typically, showing weakness and, perhaps, even _alluding_ to such a clear intimidation factor as the particular height of an alien council's podium, was frowned upon. Represent your faction well, and do it without showing weakness or cowardice.

But, from what Jane had heard of the renown Ambassador Goyle, and believe her, _there was a lot_ , she was a woman after her own heart. Straight to the point, and unafraid of showing her own discomfort _if it meant discomforting you_.

The councilors, for their part, did not show any signs of displeasure. A moment's hesitation, and the reptilian alien – _salarian_ , Jane reminded herself – nodded with a surprisingly human smile.

"Very well. We suggest that further talks are held in private," the frog-like councilor said, motioning towards the side.

' _Well,_ ' Shepard thought, following on Anderson's heels as the diplomats left. ' _So much for listening in_.'

* * *

Corporal Victor Evans fingered the black and gold coin in his hands, running his fingers over the engraved sigils.

A three-headed dog. French text, _Chasser les Faibles_. Hunt the weak.

Hunt the weak.

The young marine sighed, leaning back. The soft cloth-cotton fabric of his bunk felt like heaven – especially so, given the seven days he had spent in the brig. Seven days that he'd hope to never repeat.

What had that cold, pale lady said?

When you find yourself alone, _look for us_.

Victor nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a raving shout, accompanied by the smooth sound of an automatic door sliding open. In walked his squadmate, Valerie Black, singing at the top of her lungs, with naught but a red towel wrapped around her waist.

And only her waist. Victor quickly averted his gaze, making sure to hide the coin in his hands in his pocket.

Well, he wasn't alone yet, now was he?

Someone whistled from his side. Of course, he _knew_ who was whistling. Still, he didn't turn, despite what awaited him.

"See something you like, Rook?"

Despite himself, Victor could feel a slight burn within his cheeks. A moment later, a hand slapped onto his shoulder, and for the second time within half a minute, the marine found himself nearly leaving his body behind.

He looked up, immediately greeted by… quite a sight. Black stared down at Victor, a rather mischievous grin playing on her lips. He could see her hair was still wet from a shower, moisture glistening upon her brunette ponytail.

"Oh, come on, Rook. We're not high-schoolers, or something." His squadmate laughed, turning away. She drew open a dresser by her own bunk, pulling out some clothes. Off-duty clothing. Civvies. Pulling a shirt on, Black glanced back at Victor. "At least, I'm not."

Fine. He'd play her game. After all, she was right. "What can I say?" Victor chuckled, averting his gaze again. Briefly, he checked his pocket, to find the coin still there. "Not every marine is as lucky to have such an attractive squad-mate."

Victor looked back at Black, who bore a rather amused smirk.

"A flirt, huh?" she laughed, rolling her eyes. "You know, it'd work a lot better if you weren't clearly pitching a tent. Smoke some s'mores for me, will you?"

Damn. Outplayed. The young marine couldn't help but chuckle. The two fell into silence for a moment, Valerie slowly getting dressed as Victor stared at the top bunk above him.

After a few moments of silence, a low cough caught his attention. Victor turned to his side, finding a fully dressed Black gazing at him with concern.

"You know," she began, tilting her head ever so slightly. "You never… you never did tell us what happened."

"What do you mean?" Victor knew exactly what she meant.

"You know," the tech sergeant trailed off, finding a sudden particular interest in her dresser. "When you were in the brig. Being… interrogated." Victor could see an uneasy smile paint itself onto his squadmate's lips.

He sighed, leaning back into his bunk. He crossed one leg over the other, a bare foot twiddling idly in the air. "I was interrogated. They wanted information on the aliens. What else do you think happened?"

Val clearly didn't believe him. "There has to be more than that, Rook. You came back looking like you spent years in an ORI facility." Her eyes flicked quickly to one side, then the other. "Not that, you know, I know what's that like."

Victor stared blankly at Black, emotions playing and tugging at his mind. His thoughts touched briefly on the coin in his pocket, and he suppressed the urge to feel the metal through his pockets.

"Yeah," the marine finally said, smiling. "I guess something more did happen. But I'm gonna be honest with you, Black. I don't really feel like talking about it."

Valerie nodded, seemingly content with his answer. "Fair enough. I won't pry. But Rook…"

The brunette approached Victor's bunk again, smiling gently down at him. "You've got a team here. We're your squadmates, but we're also your friends. You can talk to us."

Victor simply returned a grin, raising a brow. "Didn't know you cared so much, Val. Didn't think you had it in you."

Pain reverberated through his shoulder, and with a gasp more feminine than he would have liked, Victor clutched at the spot where Black had just slugged him. He felt a bruise already forming.

"Now, come on. Dunn and the LT are already at the mess hall, and I'm starving. Let's get some chow."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed. I know it took a while.**

 **Good news is, the next chapter won't take as long. Probably will be out by mid-way through May, at the latest.**

 **Bad news is, it'll only come out that soon because it's politics. Kinda easier to write, but it's... a chore. To read, and to write. Unless, you know, you're into that. In which case, I guess this is Good News #2.**

 **Also, more news on upcoming chapters. Like I said, next chapter is nearly, if not all, politics. After that, we'll be done with the _Prelude_.**

 **In which case, I think I'd like to keep you guys in the know on what's planned.**

 **I have three full Acts planned for this story - Act 1, Act 2, and Act 3. Besides that, we've got the Prelude, which we're almost finished with, and then the Epilogue. But, between Acts, I'll also post some "codex" sorta chapters - info dumps. Not real chapters, and I know I said I didn't want to do that, but I've got a few PMs and messages of people asking me to do that, so I will, but only to a limited extent.**

 **In any case, I'll see you guys next time.**

 **DanishCookie, out**.


	7. Prelude: Chapter Seven - Politik

Councilor Tevos had no idea what to think of these new aliens, in all honesty.

Yet, that was practically par for the course. Young races, eager to claim the stars as their own, were always unique – such was the nature of the galaxy, of the universe. In body, superficial and cursory, Tevos knew that no species was truly alike another, upon first glance.

But in mind? In spirit?

Well, the asari matriarch had always found a particularly eerie similarity between the various peoples of the galaxy. Of course, there were always differences – the innate militarism of the turians, perhaps, lay in deep contrast to the judicious tact of the asari, or the consumerist, scientific nature of the salarians.

And so, Tevos knew that there was likely a certain degree of… familiarity that could be found in these _humans_. Yet, a deeper understanding had yet to be found. Obviously.

In body, the humans were _scarily_ alike the asari – more so than such frivolous similarities with the turians or salarians that were often found to be the focus of some so-called _'azurephiles_ ' throughout the galaxy.

But the physical nature of humanity stunned Tevos. Their facial structure and features, so incredibly emotive and seemingly just a color tone away from her own people; the five digits arrayed about their hands, a trait so seemingly rare in the galaxy, far outnumbered by those with three; and, ultimately, the whole of their body.

Yet, what truly piqued the councilor's interest was the _duality_ of the humans – not in some philosophical or spiritual nature, but simply in their dimorphism. The evidently chief envoy before her was alike the asari – sleek and feminine, and Tevos could only assume she was a female of the humans. But those at the diplomat's flanks followed the natural traits of the males of most species of the galaxy – broad-shouldered, stockier, and such.

Tevos' mind raced at what an asari male could possibly look like – akin to the men of humanity. Her heart raced at the potential.

Yet, she knew there was a job to be done. The diplomat, identified as "Anita Goyle," was waiting. She and her compatriots stood across a table from the three councilors, guards of both parties likewise facing each other.

They were within one of the Council Chambers' auxiliary conference rooms – moderately sized areas where the Council, and those who sought conference, could speak in peace. After all, while the normally ostentatious media was _persuaded_ to be unperturbed and hushed for any council meetings, the Council Chambers were still, technically, a public area.

Prying eyes would have to find gossip and material elsewhere.

A table sat between the two parties. Tevos found herself idly tapping at the expensive wood and varnish, and inwardly scolded herself. Such actions were byways into immaturity and anxiety, and despite the circumstances, she would display neither.

"So," a voice finally broke the silence, and Tevos turned to her right, eyes landing on the turian councilor, Jorius. "As we can definitely assume, we've a great number of things to discuss." Talons rested on the table as the turian leaned forwards. "Should a brief history and summation of our respective civilizations suffice?"

The humans exchanged glances, and from experience Tevos could tell that entire arguments and discussions occurred within a few gazes and stares. After a few moments, the lead human, Ambassador Goyle, nodded.

"It will. Care to start?"

Tevos' brows scrunched at the apparent audacity, but she ignored Goyle's words as best she could. "It'll be our pleasure.

"As you may have learned already, the Citadel is an amalgam of every civilized, spacefaring society and civilization in the galaxy," Tevos began, gazing intently at the human ambassador. "We, the Council, are the ruling political body, and are comprised by the three main species, as I'm sure you can see."

"Yes, I've read as such. Salarians, the scientists of the Citadel. The asari, the diplomats and governors." The ambassador turned to Jorius. "And the turians are the military arm, policing the galaxy."

Tevos threw a glance at the turian councilor to her right, but caught herself before it could develop further. She returned her gaze to Goyle, whose eyes flicked between the two councilors.

The matriarich silently cursed herself for such a maiden-like mistake.

Before she could continue, Goyle raised a hand. "Your dossiers mentioned other species. Hanar, drell, elcor…"

Councilor Jorius spoke up, nodding. "Yes. Affiliate, or in the case of the volus, client, races of the Council," he answered. "They do not hold a position on the Council, but they are important to the Citadel nonetheless."

Tevos could hear it – that strand of frustrated abhorrence, seemingly ever-present in Jorius' flanging voice, when in regards to the Council's lower races. Despite herself, the asari matriarch could not help but grumble, ever so quietly, in annoyance.

"And," Goyle responded, the muscles in the human's left brow raising. A similar gesture to that of the asari, perhaps? "Would you say that these… _affiliate_ races have equal authority? Rights?"

Tevos nodded, making sure to speak before her peers could. "Yes. Every species has equal rights and opportunities. Whether or not they make light of them, is up to themselves."

"And yet only three races hold seats on the Council?"

The asari councilor resisted the urge to frown. Had she not already said so? "Yes," Tevos replied, painting a grin upon her features. "Other species have not yet shown the merit required to hold a seat on the Council."

Tevos watched as the human ambassador frowned, yet in seeming opposition to the simple gesture, both sets of… fur, above the eyes, raised. As if the ambassador was pleasantly contemplating her newest piece of information.

"If you'd like us to continue…?" Tevos prompted.

Goyle raised a finger. "One more question."

"Go on."

"There were other races in the dossier your diplomat supplied us," Goyle began, leaning forwards with apparent interest. "But they weren't marked as affiliate races. Quarian, krogan, batarian…"

Councilor Sann cleared his throat. "Those are species unbound by the Citadel's laws and restrictions. They are independent."

"They are sensitive issues, Ambassador," Tevos smiled warmly. "Complex. It'd take too long to discuss every one of them now—"

Goyle raised a hand. "No. I know you said this was to be brief, but I want to hear about them all. From you."

The councilors looked at each other, for a few moments, and Tevos returned her gaze to the humans. "Very well. The quarians have been exiled from Council space. They created a hostile race of sentient artificial intelligences."

"Artificial intelligences?"

"Outlawed in Citadel space, Ambassador," Jorius responded. "Does the United Earth Republic own or make use of AI?"

The human was silent for a second. "No. And there are no current programs to develop a sentient artificial intelligence." The ambassador fixed Jorius with an intense gaze. "But we do utilize non-sentient intelligence. Colony or city-wide maintenance, offline naval navigation, weapons-system calibration… will those be an issue?"

Tevos smiled. "No, ambassador. In fact, such programs are used throughout the galaxy for similar reasons. We call them 'Virtual Intelligences,' or VI."

"Right. Now, moving on. The krogan?"

"Another special case," Sann responded. The salarian was smiling. "The krogan species is, at the moment, comprised of a multitude of different clans and organizations. Some individual krogan are even clan-less."

"Do go on." Goyle seemed interested.

"The krogan clans have a single embassy on the Citadel, but they're mostly something of an isolationist power," Tevos said. "The Citadel currently holds non-aggression pacts with most of the major krogan clans, which has come in handy, considering the degree of civil tensions on Tuchanka, their homeworld."

The ambassador leaned even further forwards, both hands splayed on the table. "Civil tensions?"

"Yes," Jorius began. "The krogan, as a species, are severely divided. Most, if not all, of the clans back one of two political factions.

On one side, you've Clan Nakmor. They have been able to promote the development of a singular krogan nation, as well as peace and coexistence with the Citadel."

Anita Goyle nodded, her expression unreadable even to an experienced matriarch as Tevos. Which made sense, considering humanity was only a newly discovered race – even despite their similarities with the asari.

"That's one faction. And the other?"

"Clan Weyrloc," Tevos replied, resisting the urge to scowl. Out the corner of her eyes, she could see her peers attempting to do the same. "Ambassador, the krogan are, as a species, inherently violent. Savage. In fact, they destroyed their own homeworld, before they were uplifted by the salarians."

The matriarch glanced to her left, an eye on the salarian councilor.

"While Clan Nakmor has been somewhat successful at mitigating the destructive potential of the krogan, Clan Weyrloc and their supporters yearn to embrace it," Tevos continued. "They are heavily militant, and do not promote peaceful relations with the Citadel and the Council."

Goyle furrowed her brows. "And yet you've managed to sign a treaty of mutual non-aggression with them?"

"A temporary solution, most likely," Sann said. The salarian councilor frowned, shaking his head. "The Council is keeping a close eye on the solution."

The humans looked visibly intrigued. "Alright. And the last species – the batarians. What about them?"

Tevos made to speak quickly. "An independent government. They are an isolationist power, holding territory in the Skyllian Verge and the Terminus Systems." Too late. She could hear Jorius grumbling, and the matriarch turned to see a glower painted upon the turian's mandibles.

Tevos' heart sank as Goyle glanced at the turian councilor. "Your colleague doesn't seem to like them. Why is that?"

"The batarians have recently elected to leave the protection of the Council. They are… troublesome," Sann replied in turn, and Tevos made a note to speak with the salarian later. They could not afford to simply throw information at this new race!

"In what way?"

"Hm," the salarian pondered. "The batarians are a… hegemonic species. Their mantra, their creed, states that the strongest will survive, and dominate the weak. As such, they practice several… _rituals_ , illegal in Council space."

Goyle's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

"Slavery," Jorius finally said, his flanged voice trembling with a barely hidden rage. "They left the Citadel after my people retaliated against a slaver raid. The batarians were… unhappy, with that decision."

Tevos resisted the urge to groan, instead keeping her expressions blank as she gazed at the human ambassador. She watched Goyle's fists clench – she was visibly troubled. "Skyllian Verge… Terminus Systems… I don't know what these words mean. Councilors, the Republic possesses an inherent desire to protect its own citizens," Goyle said flatly. "You would understand when I say that _we would like to know where these territories are_."

An omni-tool flashed into existence out the corner of Tevos' eyes, and she turned to see that Councilor Jorius had activated something. On the table before them, a holographic display sprang into life – a model of the galaxy, neatly divided into several partitions.

 _Inner Council Space._

 _Outer Council Space._

 _Terminus System._

 _Attican Traverse – (Skyllian Verge)._

 _Batarian Space._

The asari matriarch carefully watched as the ambassador's eyes narrowed into a tight glare, lips pursed, and fists tightly grasped the edge of the table. Even the human assistants at her sides were visibly perturbed.

"That's… awfully close to human space," Goyle finally said, averting her gaze from the display. "Thank you, councilors. This information will be put to good use."

The display closed, and Tevos could not help but let loose a breath of air she'd no idea she had been holding. The room was silent for several long moments, and the matriarch found herself pursing her own lips in slight frustration.

"I hope that should suffice for the Citadel, Ambassador," Tevos said, breaking the silence. "If I may, I ask that we learn about your own government."

Goyle simply nodded. "Right. You did receive the dossier on human history and culture, yes?"

"Indeed, we have. A rich history, if I recall." Tevos hadn't made too much of an effort to read it yet, but from what she had read, the matriarch hadn't been too impressed. "I enjoyed reading it."

Too much war, if she recalled correctly. Too similar to the turians for her liking, Tevos surmised, as she stole another glance at Jorius.

The ambassador snorted. "I'm sure. In that case, I won't bother to recant it to you, Councilors, but there are some… _current_ issues that I've been instructed to inform you about."

Tevos gave a genuine smile – though not due to any sense of kindness or charity, as her grin may have implied, than due to an inherent interest in issues plaguing government.

Potential weaknesses to exploit.

"Very well, Ambassador."

Goyle frowned, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side. "I will be honest with you, Councilors. The United Earth Republic, like the krogan, is in the middle of some civil tensions."

The human ambassador then smiled, gazing up at Tevos. "Not to a great degree, I assure you. More of a minor annoyance. But my assistants will be happy to supply any relevant information, should you seek it."

Tevos, with all her centuries of political and governing experience, could practically sniff the duplicity, the deception. But she would not push it – she would not lose sight of such a potential weapon, by whisking it under humanity's metaphorical nose.

"Very well. I'm sure we'll learn much about it. Now, moving on—"

Councilor Sann stopped her, raising a hand. "One moment, please," he said, before turning to the humans. "I do have some questions, Ambassador. If I may."

Goyle nodded. "Go on, Councilor."

"Your technology," the salarian began, and Tevos struggled to resist placing her head in her palms. Goyle looked otherwise intrigued. "It is like nothing I have ever seen before – all known technology in the galaxy runs on Element Zero. Even – _especially_ – faster than light travel."

"Element Zero?" Goyle asked, but the salarian didn't seem to have heard her.

"But, as we learned earlier today, your Republic doesn't seem to be bound by such parameters – you did not even use the Mass Relay!" Sann explained, speaking faster and faster. "I'm sure our assistants can convene with yours to exchange information about technology, but I would love to hear firsthand how your ships travel."

Goyle's lips were, to Tevos' discontent, curled into a frown. "Councilor, I don't think that such discussions are apt for our conversation today," the human finally responded, and Sann visibly deflated.

Tevos herself grinned, despite herself. The matriarch preferred _not_ to have her political meetings – _even those regarding first contact_ – interrupted and elongated by such blatantly _hobbyist_ talk—

"But I'll entertain you," the ambassador continued, and Tevos watched as Goyle fixed the asari councilor with a smile. "That is, if that would be fine by you, councilors?"

Tevos returned the smile with her own, adding a bit of her own patented spice to the grin. "No," she said brusquely. "Go ahead, Ambassador. We have the time."

"Very well," Goyle responded, as Sann practically glowed with elation. "Councilor Sann, you are right – the Republic does not utilize this 'Element Zero' in any capacity."

Despite herself, Tevos gaped for a moment. A quick glance around the room produced the same expressions on her colleagues.

"No Element Zero?" Sann blustered, visibly shaken. "Then, how do your ships travel faster than light?"

The ambassador smiled. "I'm not much of a scientist, councilor, but I can run over the basics," Goyle said. "The Republic's means of faster than light travel is based upon the congregation and amalgamation of two drive systems."

"Two?"

Goyle nodded. "Yes. The Steymer Oscillation System, and the Rausch Shock Drive."

The salarian councilor was practically salivating. "Explain?"

"Happily," the ambassador began. "The science is beyond me, councilor, but to my knowledge, the Steymer system works by creating a bubble, of sorts, around which gravity and space are distorted. It's one half of our system."

"And the other one? What does it do?"

"The Rausch Shock Drive then introduces a powerful magnetic charge throughout the bubble," Goyle explained. "The bubble, and the space around it, effectively become a self-contained electro-magnetic chamber. Councilor Sann, I'm sure you're familiar with coilgun technology?"

The salarian councilor nodded. "Yes, yes, I think I understand now. I have to say, that is quite the ingenious solution. Turning your ship into its own… 'railgun,' for lack of a better term." Sann chuckled, his reptilian eyes alight with excitement. "I am excited to hear more about human technology!"

Goyle smiled, and for the first time, Tevos could tell that it was genuine. "I'm sure, councilor, but I'm afraid it will have to wait for later. We do have much to discuss today."

"Yes, yes," the salarian agreed, somewhat despondently. "I suppose so."

The room fell back into silence, and Tevos watched Goyle's gaze, seemingly expectant. With introductions, explanations, and salutations out of the way, Tevos surmised that there was only one _crucial_ matter left to discuss.

After all, the Council had a habit of offering a _gift_ to all new species. Whether or not they took the "lifeline," as some matriarchs had begun to call it, was up to them. Tevos was not quite sure what she thought of the humans yet – she _hoped_ they were not all like Goyle, and perhaps more malleable than the turians or salarians – but she was sure the humans would not decline.

No species had, so far. Even the batarians, isolationist and abrasive as they were, had joined the Citadel as an associate race.

And, Tevos silently fumed, would have _remained_ an associate race, had Jorius and his people not been so… _hasty_. As much as the asari and salarians had attempted to salvage relations with the hegemonic batarians, the turians had not so much burnt bridges as rained hellfire on them.

Such were the origins of Tevos' current anger towards Jorius. And while Sann, the oblivious, bumbling fool that he was, had no _personal_ qualms with the turians, Tevos had always been proud of her relations with the most important salarian dalatrasses.

 _And they were unhappy._

But, Tevos inwardly mused, now was not the time to simmer on missed opportunities. Here was a _new_ race, young and perhaps (hopefully, in the matriarch's mind), _naïve_. And she would by no means let such an opportunity slip from her grasp.

"Now," Tevos began, catching the attention of all in the room. Goyle's intense gaze fixed itself on the matriarch, and she smiled warmly. "Ambassador, as I'm sure you've gathered, association with the Citadel is _very_ beneficial. Trade, culture, status – there is much the Council can offer to every species."

"I'm sure." A deadpan response.

"In any case, the Council would like to propose an offer to humanity," Tevos continued. "We would have the United Earth Republic establish an embassy on the Citadel, to ensure good diplomatic relations and association with the Council."

"An embassy?" the human ambassador asked, looking askance. "May I ask what doing so would entail, Councilor? Just to make sure that 'embassy' means the same thing between our species."

The matriarch nodded. "To establish an embassy on the Citadel, Ambassador, would be to receive the full benefits of association with the Council. Every species that has joined the Citadel has experienced flourishing trade, a vibrant cultural revolution, and exponentially growing stellar and political influence."

Goyle was silent, and Tevos continued.

"You will be protected by the fleets and armies of the turians, asari, and salarians, gain access to scientific research and knowledge, and be allowed to petition for mining, colonization, and other ventures in Council space."

Tevos ended her speech with a beaming smile – and it was genuine. After all, who _hadn't_ declined such a great deal? Even the krogan had been part of the Citadel once, and arguably, still were.

Yet, the human ambassador was still frowning, eyes slightly narrowed. At that, the matriarch's smile faltered, for just a moment.

"And the catch?" Goyle asked. "Forgive me, Councilor, but we can't expect the Council will just _give_ us all of that, without expecting something in return."

The matriarch shook her head. "There is no 'catch,' ambassador."

Goyle looked skeptical.

"The only thing that the Council would expect in return, is that humanity follows all Citadel laws and regulations, and yield to Council peacekeeping efforts." Tevos brought a hand up, an omni-tool springing to life around her wrist. "If you would like, I can supply a datapad with all the relevant information. And the time to read and discuss."

The humans exchanged glances, murmuring amongst themselves. Tevos stood patiently, but she let a hint of a smirk creep onto her lips.

Finally, accord seemed to have been met. The ambassador, Goyle, returned her gaze to Tevos with a nod.

"We would like that. Give us a few moments if you will, councilors."

Tevos smiled, her head at the slightest angle. "Gladly, Ambassador. The Council will be waiting for you at the petitioner's stage."

A symbolic act as well as a practical one. Of course, Tevos had always known of the reasons as to why the so-called "Petitioner's Stage" was so large, dominating over those who would seek the Council's audience. Should Goyle come to the preferable choice – _the only real choice_ – they would do so under the Council. As an _associate_ race.

There was much the asari would gain from this new species, Tevos thought with a barely hidden glee. With her fellow councilors at her side, the matriarch sauntered out of the conference room.

* * *

The room was quiet. Extraordinarily so, considering there were still seven people remaining in the chamber.

Well, Anita Goyle supposed, four of the said seven were their guards. They were _supposed_ to be silent.

In any case, she rapped her knuckles on the table, eager to get on with the oncoming discussion. Two pairs of eyes matched hers, uncertainty clear within them.

"Well?" Anita queried, raising a brow. "Asher, Udina? Don't just stand there, I want to hear your thoughts."

The two assistants exchanged a glance. After a moment, the former picked up the present datapad, while the latter turned back to her.

"Well, Ambassador," Udina began, his words trailing. Anita had never really liked him – he was smarmy, _slimy_ – always seeking that hidden advantage, the arm over the opposition.

The perfect politician, unfortunately for her.

"As smug as the asari councilor seemed to be," the man started. "I don't think we can afford to look past this opportunity. A galactic community of aliens – I'm sure there's much we could gain from joining.

"Hold a moment," Asher interrupted. "I'm reading through this datapad – there's a lot to parse through. But…"

Anita tapped a foot in slight impatience. "But?"

"First of all, should humanity join as an associate race, several treaties would immediately be put into effect," the young diplomat said. "Free trade, though it does seem to give the Council seats an advantage… immigration laws, the establishment of free cultural exchanges and educational initiatives. All colonization bound by Council regulation and law. And then there are the more… _suspect_ ones."

Goyle beckoned for Asher to continue.

"We'd be subject to policing and military activities from the Citadel Council," Asher began, eyes wandering further down the datapad's contents. "And stopping said activities would cause economic sanctions to be applied."

Anita shook her head, already disappointed – the Office of Republic Intelligence would have already pleaded her to reject such a regulation.

"We'd have to supply seventy percent of all our… what is this, 'Element Zero?'" The young man was evidently confused, but Anita knew what the datapad spoke of. That wouldn't fly, either. "Further, our military would be bound and restricted, per Council laws. Given the size of our current navy, the Republic would have to downsize by a factor of… _six_."

By now, Anita had already set her mind on a decision. She could even see the guards, as silent and unmoving as they were, fidgeting ever so slightly in apparent perturbation. Yet, she wanted to hear the rest.

"Go on, Asher."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am." A finger swiped across the datapad. "Besides the military restrictions, we'd also be expected to provide five to ten percent of our navy to support the Citadel Fleet. Also, there's word of what they call 'Spectres.'"

Asher looked up from the datapad, clearly bothered by its contents. "Spectres are supposedly personal agents of the Council, and are not bound by any laws within Council space. They're free to do as they wish, provided they are working under the Council's authority."

Even Udina, as slimy as the man was, muttered in disgust. Anita wondered in stupefaction – why would _any_ independent race agree to such terms and demands?

Perhaps the other races hadn't as much to hide as the Republic, the experienced ambassador pondered. That, or they were possibly forced to join the Citadel. Either way, the Republic would have no part of it. Not now, anyway.

"There's one last object of note," Asher continued. "By Council law, all associate races are to share all technology that they possess." The young man looked back up, frowning. "Ambassador, with all due respect, even _I_ know that High Command would never agree to such a thing. It's obvious the Council has none of our technology, and neither do we, theirs."

He set the datapad down. "Ambassador, as much as we'd stand to gain from joining the Citadel, there's so much we could potentially _lose_. I say we don't join."

"Agreed," Anita responded, nodding. "These terms are just ridiculous. Asher, are the three _Council_ races bound by any of these regulations?"

The young diplomat picked up the datapad again, shaking his head. "They're bound by most of them – trade, education. But not some of the more important ones," he explained. "Their navies and militaries aren't capped by any stretch of the imagination. The three council races are given priority in colonization initiatives, and are restricted from policing each other unless the actual Council itself intervenes. They're allowed to keep their own personal stores of… Element Zero." Asher sniffed. "Wouldn't be surprised if they were hoarding tech either, at this rate."

Anita turned to Udina, a brow raised as if prompting him to speak. "Donnell, you're outnumbered according to democracy anyways, but I want to hear what you think."

Udina shook his head. "Can't be outnumbered if you're on the larger side."

"Then it's decided," Anita declared. "The Republic is _not_ joining the Citadel as an associate race. Not at this rate, anyways."

Not unless they were given a seat on the Council, Anita thought with a chuckle. It was meant as a joke but… well, would the Republic deny such political clout should such an opportunity come to pass?

Anita just hoped that decision wouldn't be up to her.

* * *

It had been some time later, when the human envoys finally emerged from their conference chamber. It was clear that they had discussed at length, but Tevos could barely wait to hear their agreement. They would agree, of course – after all, no other race had ever declined such an offer.

The humans' expressions were blank, unreadable, as they approached the petitioner's stage. An asari matron, one of the Council's assistants, met them halfway, a datapad exchanging hands. As the humans stopped, a smile found its way onto the matriarch's lips.

"Ambassadors," Tevos began, her arms splayed apart in a welcoming gesture. "I'm sure you've discussed at length. The Council is eager to hear your decision."

Goyle gazed up at Tevos. "That is true, Councilor. We've come to our conclusion." The woman coughed once, before continuing. "It's clear that the United Earth Republic stands to gain much from joining the Citadel as an associate race…"

Tevos' smile grew even wider.

"… But the terms to joining are simply much too restrictive," Goyle said. Tevos felt warmth rush to her cheeks, while coughs could be heard to her sides – whether in indignation, shock, or amusement, she could not parse. "The Republic declines the Council's invitation. We would, however, like to discuss further arrangements."

Tevos simply stood in shock for a few moments, before shaking herself back to reality. "Ambassador, are you sure you would decline such a generous offer? Humanity could be missing a great opportunity here!"

Goyle nodded. "That may be so, Councilor, but we've come to conclusion that the Republic would potentially _lose_ more than we would gain. At the moment, the United Earth Republic would prefer to maintain its independence and autonomy." The ambassador smiled. "However, we understand the potential of good relations between Earth and the Citadel, so we would propose an alternative?"

Jorius responded before the matriarch could. "Go on, Ambassador," the turian said.

"We would propose that, instead of establishing an embassy on the Citadel, thus subjecting the Republic to all of the Council's laws and restrictions," Goyle began, "we would establish a consulate."

"A… consulate?" Councilor Sann tested the word on his tongue, as Tevos continued to sputter. "And what would this mean for relations between our governments?"

Goyle smiled _again_. Tevos found herself beginning to hate that smug, _conceited_ grin.

"The consulate would simply serve as a bridge between the Republic and the Citadel, Councilors," the ambassador explained. "A formal means of communication between our two governments, and to establish common laws, treaties, agreements, and deals. Further, we would invite the Council, or any representatives, to visit the human homeworld itself, Earth, and speak directly with our Senate."

"Senate?"

"The ruling body of the United Earth Republic," Goyle responded. "The Senate meets in Cologne, a city on Earth."

"Intriguing," Councilor Jorius said, his mandibles spreading in apparent interest. "Ambassador, are you certain in your decision to decline association as a member race of the Citadel?"

"Yes, Councilor." The ambassador's voice was firm, unmoving. "Speaking for my government, at this moment in time the Republic possesses no desire to join the Citadel. Our own offer still stands on the table."

Jorius simply nodded, before exchanging glances with Sann. Tevos did not bother to return his gaze – the matriarch knew that, either way, she would be outnumbered in votes – especially considering the inherent natures of both councilors.

The turian councilor returned his gaze to the humans. "Very well. Ambassador Goyle, the Citadel Council accepts your invitation. We will prepare a diplomatic party for your Senate. In the meantime, I suggest we begin the process of outlining the establishment of your consulate, and any further preparations."

Tevos did not bother to pay attention as her fellow councilors engaged with the humans. Frustration, and perhaps a bit of fury, boiled within her veins. There were calls to be made, orders to be actioned upon, and positions to be recycled, replaced.

And how old was Councilor Sann, anyways? Tevos did not feel like waiting long to arrange a more… _suitable_ replacement.

Several hours earlier, the matriarch had no idea what her thoughts and feelings were on _humans_.

Now, she supposed she did not like them very much at all.

* * *

 **A/N: That's about it for this chapter. Hope you guys enjoyed!**

 **Next chapter or two aren't real chapters - we'll get a brief (and I mean brief) timeline of the UER's history and background, as well as a codex of any relevant information.**


	8. Codex Access: The United Earth Republic

_[Welcome to the Citadel Archives. Please identify yourself with the proper credentials.]_

 **…**

 _[IDENTIFIED: Councilor Aeneas Sparatus. How may the Archives assist you today?]_

 **…**

 _[ACCESSING DATABASES]_

 _[INITIATING SEARCH]_

 _[KEYPHRASE: Humanity]_

 _[KEYPHRASE: The United Earth Republic]_

 _[ACCESSING CODEX]_

 **…**

* * *

 **The United Earth Republic**

The United Earth Republic, commonly known as the "Republic" or the "UER," is a _socialist citizen republic_ , representing the bulk of Earth, the human homeworld, and all of her official colonies on an intergalactic stage. The United Earth Republic is governed by two distinct, yet inherently connected political entities.

The _Republican Senate_ , or simply known as "the Senate," is composed of five hundred (500) politicians, elected every three years and sent by individual colonies and worlds, sector administrations, or federations, to represent their interests. The Senate is headed by an individual known as the "Prime Minister," who is the official Head of State of the United Earth Republic. The current incumbent Prime Minister of the United Earth Republic is Vivienne Aveline, whose eight-year tenure ends in two years on July 15th, 2289. The Senate is based on Earth, in the city of Cologne.

Beyond the general administration of the Republic, and the legislation of common regulations and laws, the Senate confers to and advises the Republic High Command, often shortened simply to "HIGHCOM." The High Command is a council composed of the five highest ranked members of each branch of the United Earth Republic – the Senate, the Trade Commission, the Navy and Army, and the Office of Republic Intelligence.

The United Earth Republic, since the year 2143 of the human Gregorian Standard calendar, has imposed a system of citizen military service, interlocked with a primarily meritocratic system of individual rank and status. All legal human citizens of the Republic are mandated to serve in the Republic Defense Force between the ages of twenty (20) and twenty-eight (28), or thirty-two (32) for commissioned officers.

Exceptions are not generally made for the disabled, physical or mental, due to the nature of the Republic Defense Force. In a stark contrast to the military forces of most other Citadel races, the United Earth Republic's military has enveloped roles, positions, and careers commonly thought of as "civilian" – from common electricians, engineers, and maintenance workers, to doctors and nurses of all kinds, to even educators and historians, the Republic Defense Force boasts that there is a position for "anybody, anywhere, with any sort of skillset imaginable," and all members of the military are given basic training at the very least. Naturally, this has produced, within humanity, the highest ratio of military veterans among civilians seen among the galactic races, though the Turian Hierarchy has previously contested this claim.

Some entrants into the Republic Defense Force may elect to become _Commissioned Officers_. Similar in role and rank to turian "Tribunes," "Praefects," (1) or higher, a human military officer begins his or her career at one of many "Officer Schools," the most notable of which being either the Joint Naval Officer's Commission, or JNOC, on Earth, and the Fenix Military Institute, FMI, on the colony of Fenix. After graduation, such young officers are expected to serve in the Republic Defense Force for four years longer than the common soldiery, until the age of thirty-two (32).

The Arcturus Trade Commission, named so for its central stations and offices in the Arcturus Stream system, is the United Earth Republic's central administration regarding colonial management, trade direction, agricultural development, and nation-wide logistics. The Trade Commission, headed by a commissioner, also handles the central government's investments and shares in major human corporations and financial entities – by law, the United Earth Republic holds, at minimum, a twenty-five (25) percent share in all business entities, and can hold no more than fifty-five (55) percent. The current incumbent Commissioner is Senator Brady McGraw.

The United Earth Republic currently holds fifty-seven (57) colonies and worlds, twenty-four (24) of which are fully developed on a Tier-5 colonial level. The United Earth Republic is headquartered on the colony of Arcturus, a major commercial world, and the Republic Defense Force is headquartered on Arcturus Station. Other major worlds and colonies include Earth, the human homeworld; Fenix, the Republic's premier military and industrial "fortress" world; Elysium, boasting the highest population of Republic citizens besides Earth; Arcadia, the Republic's premier "breadbasket" agricultural world; and Nova Cyrennaika, a fortress world from which frontier defense and counter-insurgency (2) actions are coordinated.

The current year of the Human Standard Gregorian Calendar is 2287.

 _(1): While similar in nature, the turian military hierarchy is often seen as incompatible and completely disparate on an inherent nature from human military ranking systems. Take such comparisons with, as the humans say, "a grain of salt."_

 _(2): Primarily regarding the Colonial Liberation Front._

* * *

 _[ACCESSING DATABASES]_

 _[INITIATING SEARCH]_

 _[KEYPHRASE: History of the United Earth Republic]_

 _[ACCESSING CODEX]_

 **…**

* * *

 **History of the United Earth Republic**

The United Earth Republic's roots began in the year 2051 of the Human Standard Gregorian Calendar, when the United Nations, a contemporary collective of human nation-states and governments, came together to establish the "United Nations Space Directorate." Commonly known as the "Directorate," or simply the UNSD, the United Nations Space Directorate was meant to coordinate and direct international relations, developments, transportation, mining, and colonization initiatives in space.

At this time, the UNSD's power was often limited by the United Nations itself, through political pressure, an inability to act, or simply a lack of proper funding. Throughout the rest of the original Directorate's existence, this would never change.

However, in 2058, a war erupted between two of Earth's premier powers – the People's Republic of China, and the recently reformed United Russian Republic. While originally a minor border dispute, a major conflict between the two powers became inevitable due to the degree of tensions between the two nations regarding territorial borders, resource disputes, and rivaling colonial initiatives on Mars and Luna.

In the initial years most of the war, termed the "Sino-Russian War," was fought along the borders of Kazakhstan and Mongolia. Fighting was fiercest within the Gobi Desert, and the conflict quickly reached a stalemate.

Initially, most other powers of Earth were content to watch. The European Union, by this time a unified and solidified continental power, and the North American Union preferred not to provoke either of the fully mobilized nations. Matters were forced into their hands, however, when in 2062, Chinese colonists on Mars stormed several armories and caused severe damage to the Russian space station in orbit, "Port Gagarin." The war had reached a breaking point.

In the winter of 2062, an unsteady United Nations met in Canberra, Australia, to mediate peace between the two warring powers. Peace was not to be, however – from the root of an already unsettled Russian delegation, discontent from their longer commute than the Chinese, to raging arguments between several important Chinese political figures, the Canberra Peace Talks were doomed to failure.

In the ensuing crisis, the world looked upon the United Nations, a longtime symbol of human progress, peace, and unity, as a catastrophe. It had failed to contain two warring powers whose ambitions had already begun to disturb the aspirations of their neighbors, and whose raging conflict had disrupted the century of peace, albeit tenuous, the human homeworld had seen pass. Factions began to arise across the face of the earth calling for the United Nations to disband, and in the summer of 2063, its headquarters in Manhattan were shuttered.

Meanwhile, the Sino-Russian War had continued to develop. While the non-use of nuclear weapons was still in mutual agreement between the two powers at war, the pages of the aforementioned treaty were beginning to tear. The Gobi Desert itself had been ravaged by years of artillery and missile fire, and the Caucasus Mountains, while safe from the initial years of the war, were beginning to feel the conflict's effects. Both the United Russian Republic and the People's Republic of China had begun to fashion their own primitive military forces in space, and by the spring of 2065, multiple sections of the human colonies on Mars and Luna had been utterly destroyed.

In the winter of 2068, the United Russian Republic invaded Iran, hoping to gain access to the nation's vast stores of iron and oil to fuel its war effort. In the ensuing confusion, the rivaling nations of Pakistan and India, already biting at each other's heels, reignited their war – and, in stark contrast to the agreements between Russia and China, neither power on the Indian subcontinent was content to _not_ use every weapon in their arsenal.

The world stood on a teetering edge, threatened by nuclear fire and the destruction of all progress in space. Unwilling to let the situation develop any further, the North American Union and the European Union banded together, reestablishing the United Nations Space Directorate in 2064. Despite its title, the Directorate's connection to the old United Nations was in name only, yet it was intended to invoke the same symbols of peace and progress.

Pumping considerable amounts of military and industrial resources into their new project, the two powers refurbished and reformed the Space Directorate into a fully developed space-based naval force. Entire divisions and units of the North American Armed Forces and the European Defense Force were subsumed by the UNSD to develop its Marine Corps and Navy. Immediately, operations began in effect to quell full-scale rebellions and conflicts on the Mars and Luna colonies, before the Directorate turned its attention back to Earth. In the summer of 2072, the nations of Earth were all called to a single room in Cologne.

Initially, the Cologne Peace Initiative looked as fruitless as its predecessor in Canberra. The People's Republic of China, seemingly in perception of a weakness in Russia's defenses, demanded increasingly larger and larger reparations and concessions, while a belligerent and stubborn Russia, unwilling to lose what they perceived to be a stalemate, refused to back down from the war. As more and more voices called to the fray, demanding and refusing and demanding again, the situation looked hopeless.

Yet, in a stunning revelation that presumably stemmed the tide of war and nuclear annihilation, the Commander in Chief of the United Nations Space Directorate, Admiral Alvaro Molina, threatened all belligerent parties with continuous orbital bombardment, unless every nation signed a multilateral "White Peace" treaty. For all intents and purposes all borders, relations, and agreements would return to the state they were in before the war had initially begun, nearly fifteen years earlier in 2058.

Faced with a weapon that, in effect, no Earth-based nation-state had any capability to defend from or destroy, all of the nations of Earth were forced to sign the treaty, coined the "Treaty of Cologne." While some belligerent voices remained, they were quickly hushed in the face of an advanced fleet of space-based warships.

Alongside the Treaty of Cologne were additional terms and agreements. The United Nations Space Directorate demanded, from the treaty's signees, an obligation to supply the Directorate with an ample amount of troops, resources, and ships, while all existing military units would be on a permanent rotation in service to the Directorate. Further, all Earth nations were barred from creating, or owning, a space-based navy or marine force, and all colonies, trade, and exploration in space were required to be governed through the United Nations Space Directorate – though countries were allowed to "sponsor" colonization initiatives.

With such a treaty signed, and such agreements bound by blood and ink, the newly reestablished United Nations Space Directorate exploded in power and influence. In the coming years, this would never change – by 2105, the Directorate held complete dominance over Earth and all her colonies, and had eventually come to subsume and consume all of the militaries and governments of Earth.

In the spring of 2127, the United Nations Space Directorate fully recognized its status as the unified government of all humanity, and renamed itself the "United Earth Republic." It remains, to this day, a bastion of hope and progress for the human species.

In the winter of 2283, the United Earth Republic made first contact with the Citadel Council.

* * *

 _[ACCESSING DATABASES]_

 _[INITIATING SEARCH]_

 _[KEYPHRASE: Commander Jane Shepard]_

 _[KEYPHRASE: United Earth Republic Special Warfare Command]_

 _[KEYPHRASE: Military Assistance Command: November Group]_

 _[ACCESSING CODEX]_

 **…**

 **…**

 **…**

 _[SEARCH CANCELLED]_

 _[SEARCH REDACTED]_

 _[Thank you for using the Citadel Archives. Have a good evening, Councilor Aeneas Sparatus!]_

 _[ARCHIVES CLOSED]_

* * *

 **A/N: And that's our first Codex Access. This one focused on the UER and humanity as a whole. Hope you guys enjoyed! It might be a while until our next codex access, as I only plan to add them between Acts, but the next one will focus on technology.**

 **Review Responses:**

 ** _tom12311_ : I'll admit, a lot of the political stuff were hopefuly shots in the dark - I don't have much experience with this stuff, and neither do I have the resources to turn to. If you think there's a lot I can change and improve there, let me know, whether in a review or a PM. I would love to make it as accurate or plausible as possible.**

 _ **AlistairMcKeon**_ **: Humanity's system of FTL is much slower than the Mass Relays, but much faster than Mass Effect's non-relay FTL. For reference, the RNS _Sunmaker_ , the ship upon which Goyle and the Republic delegation arrived at the Citadel, made it from Earth to the Citadel in about six days, nearly a week.**


	9. Act One: Chapter Eight - Speartip

**A/N: An initial warning for some - I know I've said that I want to avoid overly technical fluff, because it turns a lot of people off, but a brief, minor forewarning - this initial part of this story, very briefly, touches on some technical stuff that some may not care for. It does give some context for the rest of the chapter, but it isn't entirely necessary, so if you don't care for it, just brush past until you get to the actual story. It's just a few lines.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Act One**_

 _ **By the Sword**_

 _A young marine finds himself uncovering a plot that may spark a galactic war…_

* * *

 **INITIATING SCAN: IDENTIFICATION FRIEND OR FOE ESTABLISHED**

 **IFF CONFIRMED**

 **RNS CRUSADER\BATTLEGROUP AUTUMN\7** **TH** **FLEET\ATTIC FLEET**

 **READINESS LEVEL: MODERATE**

 **RE-ARMAMENT PROCEDURES IN EFFECT**

…

 **REARM AND RESUPPLY**

1500 Ferric Tungsten Shells: 5t (Metric Ton)

200,000 Depleted Uranium Shells: 30kg

3,000,000 Ferric Tungsten Rounds: 60mm

1440 Raven-class Missile Units

48 Fracture-class Torpedoes

Infantry Systems Package: Regiment

Infantry Munitions Package: Regiment

Infantry BDU Package: Regiment

Theater Operations Package: Woodland/Various

 **REPAIR AND RESUPPLY**

Ground Vehicle Package: Mechanized Expeditionary Unit

Space/Air Craft Package: Rapid Response Unit

…

 **RE-ARMAMENT PROCEDURES COMPLETE**

 **READINESS LEVEL: GREEN**

* * *

Captain Marcus Shepard sighed, placing a datapad on the command table. It was typical information – the logistics of a normal resupply procedure. Considering the renown and discipline of the Republic's Logistics Command, he hadn't much to worry about. In fact, Marcus generally found himself ignoring such information. Most of it usually went over his head – filler, fluff, the finer details of the running of _his_ ship, which he wouldn't worry himself with. "Same shit, different day," as he used to say, back when he was simply a grunt.

Yet, today's procedure was different, in a sense. Atypical, one could say. For, while the model re-armament and repair procedure was done regularly, perhaps in a cyclic structure, during a particular vessel's tour of duty (most often spent guarding the borders of the Republic), today the RNS _Crusader_ was part of something new. Something only recently established. For, as far as Marcus had been informed, the United Earth Republic was finally going on a decisive offensive. An attack, a campaign – a counter against the Insurgency's recent strings of war.

Marcus wasn't sure of the details of this new operation – not yet, at least. After all, he had figured it all based on the current resupply procedures. He wasn't sure anyone else had even noticed, but there were obvious discrepancies from the usual. Munitions, small-arms, it was all atypical. But, based purely on the contents of the datapad, and the _mysterious_ new fleet that Battlegroup Autumn had apparently been attached to – the "Attic Fleet" – Marcus could guess where they were going.

 _The Attican Traverse_.

He wasn't sure what it was named by the alien civilization humanity had recently come upon, but Marcus figured it wasn't too important, whatever it was. After all, they'd working translators now – given to them by the so-called "Citadel Council."

Yet, that particular note was something that _really_ piqued Marcus' mind. He had always thought the Republic's translation software algorithms to be, well, top of the line, despite the consideration that it had only been truly tested on human dialects and languages.

But the aliens? And their system of translation? By all he kept holy, they were nominal _light-years_ ahead of humanity in that regard. Which, in retrospect, made sense, considering the variance of races and species in contact with the Citadel. Yet what had, allegedly, taken the Republic weeks to translate – which was quite fast, by any stretch of the imagination – took the Citadel's alien scientists, with the veritable libraries of information gifted by the UER, no more than three days, if the grapevine was to be trusted.

Then, they had proceeded to do the same, not only with the Republic's state language, English, but with other common languages and dialects among humanity – German, French, Spanish, Mandarin, and Swahili.

But what had truly amazed the errant captain was that, with all of the full translations, barring any hiccups or software glitches, the Citadel, in conjunction with the Republic, had mass-produced translation units to be distributed throughout the UER. Billions upon billions of them, tiny little laces that would be inserted into a depression behind the ear. Despite the miniscule size of the units, it spoke of the Citadel's ability to mass-produce – their sheer industrial capabilities.

Of course, the Republic had not fully trusted the units – not initially. After all, who knew what kind of spyware or bugs the translation units had contained? But the fact that, not three weeks later, the units had been mass-distributed amongst important units and individuals, and more given out every day, spoke of a veritable lack of spyware that might have been found.

Yet, Marcus Shepard realized that he had been thinking on a tangent – a particularly wayward one, at that. Hands behind his back, the captain gazed down at his command table, his Executive Officer, Commander Vanessa Keynes, at his side.

"Looks like our resupply is about done, Captain," Keynes remarked, holding two mugs. She offered one to Marcus – his favorite one, blue, and steaming with an Arcadian Dark roast, black to the bean.

"Yep," Marcus answered, taking the offered mug with a nod. He sipped away, feeling the bitter taste wash down his throat. "Vanessa, were we supposed to be re-armed with an expeditionary package?"

"How do you mean?" Keynes asked.

The captain offered the datapad, and Keynes craned her neck to read its contents. "We've got double the munitions we need across the board, and we've got a regiment-sized package for our marines, but you and I both know the _Crusader_ only holds a battalion." Marcus let the datapad slip fully from his fingers as his XO pulled. "Not to speak of the ' _mechanized expeditionary_ ' and _'rapid response_ ' units they gave us. What does that tell you, Commander?"

Keynes finally set the datapad down. "Prolonged deployment. Probably the frontiers, maybe even beyond. Even Reyes' marines have camo units for all sorts of terrain and climes – though, they've got an emphasis on temperate woodland."

"Correct," Marcus said, resting a hand on his command table. "And, based on the datapad, I suspect we'll be heading towards—"

" _Captain Marcus Shepard, to the Communications Suite,_ " a distinctly mechanical voice called throughout the ship. Marcus gazed upwards at a nearby intercom, raising a brow. " _Repeat, Captain Marcus Shepard, to the Communications Suite._ "

The captain turned back to Vanessa, who nodded. "You've got mail, Captain," she smirked. "Keep me posted, sir?"

Marcus turned on his heel, waving a brief goodbye to his XO. "Will do, Keynes."

* * *

"Hackett."

" _Sir._ "

"Shepard."

" _Admiral_."

Fleet Admiral Vasily Mikhailov nodded, acknowledging the two holograms before him, their soft, cerulean coloration tinging the room he currently presided in – his personal communications suite on "Arcturus Station," the United Earth Republic's foremost headquarters.

The days went by slowly on Arcturus Station. It was, quite frankly, a boring post, but he knew that in taking the position of Fleet Admiral, commander of the entirety of the Republic's Navy and Marine Corps, he would forever be detached from the frontlines, barring the most extreme of circumstances. Strategy instead of tactics, maps of the galaxy replacing maps of worlds and systems, and office and political bureaucracy instead of grit, mud, and blood.

Vasily Mikhailov had always preferred the life of a mudcruncher, the typical "doughboy" – life on New Vladivostok had taught him to survive in a veritable wasteland, yet from the start he had been unaccustomed to the prim and proper ways of the desk, air-conditioned and all.

But, ultimately, the old, grizzled admiral was a pragmatist, and understood that when they said he was the best man for the job, _he very much was_. And, if it was in service to the Republic – _his_ Republic – he would endure the velveteen webs of human politics.

Vasily also understood, however, that he was old. Sixty-seven years of age, in an era in which the average human, if he recalled correctly, was expected to live into their nineties.

And the Fleet Admiral did _not_ wish to remain a Fleet Admiral forever. Thus, he was quite hard-pressed to find a successor.

It wasn't as if it was _hard_ to find someone qualified – if anything, there was simply an over-abundancy of qualified individuals. The Republic prided itself on being a meritocracy, after all, and those at the top of the food chain had, in most cases, _earned_ their spot.

But recent circumstances and developments had spurred a… _change_ , for lack of a better term, in Vasily's philosophy in his search. Necessitated by the discovery of an inter-galactic community of aliens, each of them as powerful, if not more so, than humanity, was the idea of a _diplomat_.

In short, Admiral Mikhailov was a war hero – a fighter, a brawler, born in the fires of human conflict. Most officers in the United Earth Republic were of such a description; considering humanity's celestial history of aggressive expansion and security, it only made sense. Yet, having more pieces on the board ensured that the nature of the game was no longer singular, nor solitary – and every move could spell a diplomatic disaster.

As such, Vasily knew that a more… _diplomatic_ approach was needed. A successor who was, like the rest, a capable officer in war, yet also the charismatic representative of humanity in peace-time that Mikhailov knew he couldn't be.

Of course, he didn't need a politician – a web-spinner of serpentine ilk, nor did he want one. But Mikhailov _did_ have eyes on one particular man.

"It's good to see you both," Vasily said, returning his attention to the pair of blue holograms before him. Both were garbed in the traditional service dress of Navy officers – dark grey suits, nearly black, with royal-blue trim down the shoulders, arms, and legs. "I understand that you both have questions pertaining to your next deployment. Rest assured, all will be clear." He fixed his gaze on Hackett. "I assume Autumn's resupply procedures went well, Admiral?"

The rear admiral stood a little straighter, hands clasped behind his back. " _Yes, sir. All fourteen vessels are fully armed and repaired_ ," he said. " _Though, admiral, I do have to ask – it's clear we've been supplied for an extended deployment. May I ask why?_ "

Shepard's hologram nodded beside Hackett, clearly in agreement. "A good question, and one I _am_ keen to answer." Vasily rolled his shoulders once, twice, before continuing. "Gentlemen, two weeks ago a cell of ORI operatives uncovered a cache of insurgent databases," he explained. "Within those databases was a veritable trove of CLF identities, names, and profiles."

" _Sir,_ " Captain Shepard began. " _We already know the names of the CLF's leadership. What more could we have learned?_ "

Mikhailov nodded. "True, captain. Gaston Reina, Elanos Haliat, Hope Gleeson – we already know of the bulk of their head officers," he agreed. "After all, many of them are formerly of the Republic, whether the Senate wishes to acknowledge this or not. But some of these names piqued my attention." The fleet admiral turned to Shepard, grinning.

"Particularly one ' _Gerard Grayson_.' Sound familiar, captain?"

Shepard's eyes widened, and had the veteran captain been one of the animals Vasily had used to hunt on New Vladivostok, he figured a set of hackles would have been raised.

" _Admiral, all intel pointed to Grayson being just another 'errand boy' for the CLF. What more importance would he have to the insurgency?_ "

Vasily nodded. "Correct, captain. _Everyone_ was of the same opinion. But, it seems your quarry was more than just some lackey," he remarked. "We've learned that this 'Gerard Grayson' handles arms manifests, transfers, and deals for his insurgency."

The fleet admiral straightened his uniform's collar. "This means, gentlemen, that when one of the CLF's nukes changes hands, or a shipment of stolen Republic heavy weapons is moved to a rebel base, this man, Grayson, oversees the transfer."

The room fell into silence, both Hackett and Shepard contemplating this new information. Vasily resisted the urge to search his own pockets, feeling his fancy for expensive cigars waxing. After a few moments, Shepard looked back up, a perplexed expression upon his blue features.

" _Admiral,_ " the captain began. " _My orders were to hunt and eliminate Grayson after he attacked and destroyed a Republic trade flotilla. Could he have been looking for something those ships were carrying?_ "

Vasily shook his head. "Not likely. Those traders were transporting food from one of our breadbasket colonies, and old, out of date uniforms and BDUs," he explained. "They dumped most of the food and clothing, and the uniforms we couldn't locate did not have the attached IFF laces anyways. Nothing they could do with them. But we _do_ have confirmation that our man is attached to something _big_."

The two holograms briefly flickered. " _Sir?_ " Hackett prompted.

"Gerard Grayson's profile was linked to several high-profile meetings – most of them have already passed, nothing we can do about them," Vasily said. "But there's another one coming up. Grayson is due to attend another high-profile meeting, and oversee the transfer of something the CLF deems to be of _great_ importance."

Hackett and Shepard exchanged a glance in silence, seconds ticking away before Hackett turned back to Vasily. " _If I may ask, admiral – where?_ "

"Grassroots, gentlemen. In the Dusk system." Vasily smiled again. "To my understanding, the colony is heavily contested. The garrison is hard-pressed to put out fires, and when they do, two more burn alight. The CLF has scrapped up an incredible presence there."

" _The breadbasket, Admiral?_ " Shepard began. " _If I recall correctly, didn't the Navy intend to write off Grassroots? Too much infrastructure destroyed, and the capital city lost to the insurgency?_ "

Hackett nodded in agreement. " _Yes. Last I heard, we intended to simply bomb the world into non-existence. Admiral Kahoku was the only one left opposed to the idea._ "

"And you would be correct, gentlemen," Vasily answered. "But, in the light of new information, we've ordered our forces there to make one final push."

" _And that's where we come in?_ "

The fleet admiral nodded. "Affirmative. Hackett, I'm greenlighting Battlegroup Autumn for deployment to Grassroots. You're to locate Gerard Grayson, disrupt his meeting, and capture whatever it is the CLF wants so badly."

" _And after that, sir?_ " Shepard asked. " _With all due respect, admiral, that doesn't answer why we've been given enough supplies for an entire expeditionary force._ "

"That may be so, captain," Vasily acquiesced. "To answer your question, Shepard - this operation, as hasty as it is, will be the spark of our new campaign against the insurgency." He turned to Hackett.

"You're effectively the tip of the spear for us, gentlemen. In effect, Battlegroup Autumn will be under my personal command – and, believe me, it's more than likely you'll be cut off from friendly waters for a prolonged period."

" _Understood, admiral_ ," Hackett nodded. " _I do have another question, sir._ "

"Go on, Hackett."

" _To my knowledge, Disciple Two is our only resident Special Warfare unit,_ " he began. " _Will another team be assigned?_ "

The fleet admiral shook his head. "Negative. I wanted to bring aboard a team from the 13th Hazardous Mechanized, but they couldn't spare anyone," he answered – a bit glumly, too. The aptly named 'Scarecrows' would have been quite a boon. "And there isn't enough time to locate and reallocate another unit. My apologies, but you'll have to make do with the SAU."

Hackett nodded, stepping back.

"Now," Vasily said. "I assume you have no more questions?"

" _No sir_ ," came a coupled response.

"Excellent. Be on your way, gentlemen. Autumn may depart when ready."

He flicked a hand up, holding it flat over his brows. Hackett and Shepard returned the salute, snapping to attention. After a moment, the holograms flickered away, leaving the communications suite unlit, a dull grey.

"Good luck."

* * *

Captain Marcus Shepard, once again, stood before his command table, watching the bridge closely. Activity was bustling, as crewmen and sailors rushed to and fro. He could see the veritable edge in everyone's gait, a measure of unease rippling through the command center that matched his own.

Of course, it hadn't been their first time "hot-dropping" into a system-wide conflict – the crew of the _Crusader_ was a veteran one, experienced to a man. But, it was simply the nature of these sorts of things; an uncertain jump into a contested system, with an unfortunate lack of auspice and comprehension of the situation at large.

It wasn't as if there had been _no_ contact with Republic forces in the Dusk system – as Marcus had heard it, Hackett had been able to reach the resident garrison force, the call answered by one Admiral Brian Kahoku. Yet, they received only a paltry amount of available information, and the communique itself hadn't taken enough time – Kahoku had allegedly disappeared, some manner of disruption cutting them off.

Suboptimal, really – no sane force ever wanted to go in blind, against an unknown force in number and constitution.

By Marcus' side, Commander Vanessa Keynes mirrored his own apprehension, hands weighed heavily on the command table. Her eyes darted back and forth, measuring munitions, arms, shields – everything she could. Not in a panicked manner, of course – sailors in the Republic didn't live long if they panicked.

Measured. Dignified. Capable.

Yet uncertain.

"Keynes," Marcus said, prompting the woman to look up. "What's our ETA?"

"Helm reports five minutes, captain. We're almost there."

The captain nodded. "Excellent."

There was nothing more they could do at the present, than wait. They had, of course, already prepared the _Crusader_ – their main guns had been fully charged, shields engaged, and battlestations manned.

A high-pitched ping caught Marcus' attention, a red dot appearing in the corner of the command screen. Keynes tapped the marker, and a holographic screen blinked into existence before them.

"Text communique from Rear Admiral Hackett, captain," the commander said, flicking a finger across the table. The screen, small and rectangular, floated towards Marcus. "Marked priority."

Marcus nodded, settling his eyes on the message's contents. It wasn't long – simply a few lines.

 _Captain Shepard:_

 _Lead the line._

 _-Rear Admiral Hackett_

Shepard smirked, snapping his fingers to close the message. He turned back to Keynes, his head slightly to the side.

"Spread the word, commander," he said. "The _Crusader_ will be the first one in. More kills for us, I suppose."

His executive officer returned the grin, nodding. "Aye-aye, captain. Think our gunners are gonna be happy about that?"

"Absolutely."

Keynes made to respond, but a loud klaxon interrupted her.

" _All hands, be advised – prepare for FTL drop_ ," a mechanical voice buzzed from the intercom system. As if on instinct, Shepard leaned forwards, supporting his weight on the command table. Hairs raised on his neck, an electric charge washing throughout the bridge. A second passed, two…

 _Crrrrrack!_

The _Crusader_ 's momentum shifted, gravity lightly passing through Marcus' body as reality snapped into existence around the vessel. It took him a brief moment – it always did – before the captain cleared his throat, his entire body awake and at the ready.

"Status!" he barked, eyes glued to his command table. Almost immediately, several figures blinked onto the screen – a bright orange ball, surrounded by a several other globes; Marcus counted six, ringed around the Dusk system.

One of them was a bright green, glimmering in the darkness of space – like an emerald, he thought quickly. Yet, as a blue circle seemed to pulse from the _Crusader_ 's position on the map, an array of colors blinked into existence around the green world. Red, blue, and orange, popping in and out, in and out.

"All systems nominal, captain!" a voice responded quickly. "Scans are reading an array of signatures around Grassroots – friendly tones mixed with bandits."

Marcus turned to Keynes, who stood silently across the table. "What's Autumn's status?"

"They'll be right behind us, captain."

He nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he muttered, before looking back up. "Helm, forward burn on galactic heading fifteen by sixty!"

The vessel rumbled into movement, the _Crusader_ 's twin fusion reactor gaining in strength as power flowed to the thrusters. A low-pitched groan thrummed through the bridge, the familiar, healthy sound a comfort to Marcus' ears.

"Tactical," the captain prompted. "Identify bandits."

A voice responded from somewhere to Shepard's right. "Sir, counting forty-one hostile tones – four cruisers, fourteen destroyers, and twenty-three frigates. CLF tones are responding."

"And friendlies?"

"Counting sixteen friendly IFF tones, captain," the same voice said. "They're all bunched around a single battlecruiser. Looks like they're in the thick of things, sir."

"Put them on screen."

They could see the skirmish, far in the distance. Dark-grey vessels, marked with red stripes, were interspersed with a green and orange motley that far outnumbered them. Every now and then, a bright orange flare burst between the combatants, bright to the naked eye.

Shepard silently counted the numbers in his head – forty-one insurgent vessels matched against a total of thirty Republic ones. Though they were outnumbered by eleven, Marcus supposed that it might be an even fight.

"Tactical, I want a lock on the closest hostile target. Forward burn, scan for class and make."

A red dot on the command screen blinked once, twice, before a second circle appeared around it, hashed in quarters. A line drew itself from the circle towards an arbitrary position on the map, words flashing onto the screen.

 _Lancaster-class Destroyer_

 _Hostile IFF Tone Received_

Marcus grumbled, shaking his head. "They got their hands on a Lancaster?" he muttered to himself. He wasn't entirely surprised – those particular destroyers were old, and most had already been phased out by the Republic.

"Captain!" a crewmate called out. "They've noticed us! I'm counting seventeen hostile signatures breaking off from the main fight. Counting two cruisers, six destroyers, and nine frigates!"

"Ahead full," Marcus ordered, "Tactical, I want firing solutions for our main guns, and get a missile lock on those frigates. Prepare all fighter and bomber squadrons for launch!"

"Bandits are scrambling fighter craft, captain," a crewman noted. Shepard paid it no mind, and with a wave of his hand, the insurgent vessels were marked in red.

"Designate marked targets Alpha One through Seventeen," he said. "How long until we're in range?"

"Fifteen more seconds for our missile pods! The main guns are charged and ready to fire!"

Marcus could see the enemy vessels had fanned out into an arrow, almost a line, and already, more than a few bright yellow flares began to spark at their bows.

"Fire the main guns, target Alpha One!" barked the captain. The deck below Marcus' feet rumbled as three bright red beams seared across space in a violent flash of light.

A cerulean sphere seemed to wink into existence around the destroyer, but it could only take so much – while the first two shots careened into space, their momentum greatly diminished, the third speared into the hull. A bright yellow, nearly white, fire rippled across the dull-green paint – more than Marcus would have expected from a single shot.

The destroyer listed to the side, slowly keeling over as more explosions billowed across its hull. A cheer roared throughout the bridge of the _Crusader_ , and Marcus smiled – they had gotten lucky.

"Direct piercing hit on the magazine! Alpha One disabled, captain!" a crewmate called out. "Raven missiles will be in range in five seconds!"

"Hostile targets are preparing to fire!"

"Hackett and Autumn are taking the lead, sir!"

True to the crewman's word, Marcus watched as the UER vessels passed on their flanks, led by Hackett's own RNS _Sunmaker_. The flagship was a Viridian-class battlecruiser, bristling with heavy guns and nearly double the size of Marcus' own ship.

In the distance, an array of bright yellow bolts rushed across the empty space between the two flotillas. The UER battlegroup responded with their own crimson volley, as bright blue shields flickered into life around the various vessels. The _Crusader_ followed, steadily taking back its place at the helm.

"Raven missiles are in range, captain! Torpedoes are spinning up and ready to fire!"

"New target!" Shepard barked. "Hostile cruiser on our flank, bearing 15 by 210. Fire starboard-side pods one through four!"

A sound, heavy on the ears and akin to that of tornado-like winds, rushed up through the bridge from its bellows, as more than two-hundred "Raven" missiles were launched from their bays. Flaring with a bright light, the fusion missiles roared towards their target. A flurry of explosions rocked the insurgent cruiser, yet it continued its course, heading full-speed towards the _Crusader_.

"Target Alpha-Six is on a heading straight towards us, captain!" a crewmate shouted, unease tinging her voice. "Reading a spike in power – they're readying to fire!"

"Everyone, brace!" Shepard cried out, crouching close to the floor. The deck roared under his feet as a series of impacts rocked his ship. Nearby, Keynes fell to the ground with a pained cry, clutching her leg.

The moment passed, and Marcus slowly rose to his feet, surveying the bridge. "Status!"

"Heavy blow, captain!" someone called back. "Shields are holding at thirty-eight percent, but we can't take a direct hit like that again!"

"Someone tell me where that cruiser is!" Shepard gave Keynes a steadying hand as she rose with a groan.

The vid-screen before them flickered back on. He could see that, by now, the two armadas had passed into each other, the battle lines now a clumped mess of fire and steel. The view shifted, and the insurgent cruiser came into view.

"Alpha-Six is on bearing 10 by 270, sir!" another crewman shouted out. "They're trying to ram us!"

Marcus' eyes widened. "Tactical! Full broadside salvo, starboard. Fire!"

A volley of scarlet erupted from the _Crusader_ 's flank, a hundred of the light railguns bristling on the Republic heavy-cruiser's flank bursting with electro-magnetic energy. Shepard watched as the salvo impacted upon their target, crippling the cruiser's bow. Yet, the insurgent ship was seemingly unadulterated by the _Crusader_ 's assault.

"Brace!" he cried out, his voice cracking. "Brace for impact!"

The veteran captain clutched his command table, watching as the cruiser came closer and closer, until he could practically see within its ruined bridge, a little less than half a kilometer from the _Crusader_. Marcus closed his eyes, awaiting the terrible screech of metal upon metal.

It came – yet, without the turmoil and death that would have speared through his own ship, and preceded by the grave, dull _thump-thump_ of a heavy magnetic cannon. Marcus opened his eyes to a bright cloud of fire, gas, and debris, as another ship burst through what remained of the insurgent cruiser. On its port-side was a label – RNS _Sunmaker_.

In the corner of the command table, a green bulb blinked. The captain reached over, tapping the dot. Static buzzed in his ear, before a voice reached through the cloud.

" _Captain Shepard,_ " Hackett prompted, the hectic sound of his own bridge in the background. " _What's your status? Are you alright?_ "

Marcus took a deep breath, a hand clutching at his chest. "We're green on this end, Admiral,"he answered, his voice hoarse. "Appreciate the assistance."

" _Good to hear that, Shepard_ ," the admiral responded. " _I've made contact with Admiral Kahoku – they're doing fine, but he needs us in as soon as possible."_

"Aye, sir," Marcus said. "How's the situation looking?"

" _The rebels are retreating – we took them by surprise, and they've taken quite a few losses,_ " Hackett answered. " _But they'll be back. They still outnumber us, and they're going to want to contest control of the colony's spaceport again._ "

"Makes sense. Admiral, what's our next move?"

" _We've only got a small window of time, so we need to make this quick_." He paused. " _Kahoku's only recently made contact with the army garrison on the surface, and it doesn't look good. We're still holding the a few of the colony's urban centers, but we've lost control of most of Grassroots' capital, Emeraude City._ "

Marcus frowned. "Any word of Grayson, sir?"

" _That's the good news,"_ Hackett responded. _"The CLF is in control of most of the countryside, including the farms, but they sighted a stronghold on the outskirts of Emeraude City. Grayson's been leading a contingent of insurgents from that stronghold, feeding operations into the heart of the city_."

"I'm assuming we're going to offload our marines, admiral?" the captain asked, crossing his arms.

" _For now, not all of us,_ " Hackett answered. " _Shepard, I want you to lead the way_ _with the_ Alphonse _and the_ Hear Me _. One cruiser and two destroyers' worth of marines should be enough to establish a staging zone for the rest of our forces._ "

"Yes, sir," Marcus said with a nod. "Any additional support? Is the army lending a hand?"

" _That's a good question, captain."_ The admiral paused again, before continuing. " _Nearby army forces will be present for the initial assault, and any operations leading up to it. They're also lending some… pretty powerful hardware._ "

"And that is, sir?"

" _A squadron of strike craft. Trust me, Shepard – your marines are going to have a lot of fun. They're giving us_ Zeus _fighters_."

"Damn… looking forward to the fireworks."

" _Indeed, captain. Hackett out."_

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!**

 **In all honesty, I have a lot of trouble with space combat, so hopefully it wasn't too bad. Let me know if there's anything you think I can improve upon.**

 **Review Responses:**

 **Draed: I definitely agree, and I think that there's a lot that can be done outside of codexes, instead of filling individual chapters with useless exposition that doesn't mean anything without context, or what have you. But, I figured there was no easy way to get the history of the UER, as well as its composition, in the story without breaking the flow of the actual narrative. But, rest assured, I want to keep these "Codex" chapters to a minimum, as well as write them in a way that avoids them simply being a bullet-point list of machines, weapons, vehicles, ships, etc., etc., because I don't care about that, and neither would many readers. I do want to be creative with them, however, so expect more "non-conventional" codex chapters. There will be very few of them, however - probably only four, maybe five, total, throughout the story.**


	10. Act One: Chapter Nine - Duty

**A/N: It's been a while.**

* * *

 **Grassroots**

 _ **En route to Firebase: Dorset**_

 **1453 Hours**

To Corporal Victor Evans' eyes, the fields and country of Grassroots were familiar sights – specters and recollections of a long bygone time. Rolling green hills, sun-kissed golden fields, and colorful orchards as far as the eye could see. A beautiful colony on the frontier, full of errant and burgeoning life – at least, it used to be.

It was as Demeter had been at the cusp of its insurgent coup nearly two decades ago, and in Victor's mind, it was about to follow the same fate. The green hills were marked by craters of all sizes and shapes, artillery fire having long ago flattened the wheat and corn fields, and fires raged across vast sections of the forests and woodlands. A sad sight – and a familiar one, Victor mused, watching as the surface of Grassroots rushed by below.

Every few seconds, an errant explosion rocked the skies nearby, the occasional bout of flak and artillery fire enough to shake the corporal's transport – the UT-441 dropship, lovingly named the "Condor" by the Republic's marines. One of many that had been offloaded by the _Crusader_ , still high in the stars above, the Condor's inhabitants were mostly silent, save for a conversation nearby. A quick glance marked the participants as Lieutenant Black, his squadmate, and a marine from another squad. Recon, if the green camouflaged plating was to be trusted.

"It's a _Maverick_ ," Black stated with a smug air about her, showing off a rather bulky sidearm. "Hahne-Kedar Industries. Five shells held in a break-action chamber. You _don't_ want to be in front of this girl."

"Damn," the marine said. A layer of tape was pasted onto his helmet, the name _Gibbs_ written in black marker. "What kinda shell does it use? Doesn't look like it can carry twelve or twenty."

Victor watched as the lieutenant broke open the Maverick's chamber, popping a single shell out. It was thin, wrapped in a white casing.

"Four-ten," Valerie answered, holding the shell up. "Buck or slug – I prefer buck, myself."

"Seems kinda small, don't you think?"

The lieutenant laughed. "Wouldn't you know anything about small, cherry-cheeks?" The cabin erupted in laughter as the marine, _Gibbs_ , sat back with a nonplussed expression – yet a tiny smirk betrayed his true feelings. "Trust me, up to sixty meters away, _'Greta_ ' here will put a chunk through your chest, armor or not. She's got some kick to her."

There were a few low whistles, and Victor even found himself raising his brows.

"You named your gun?" another voice asked. It was Faulk, hidden away in a corner of the cabin, with his rifle tucked between his legs. "Who the fuck names their gun?"

Valerie turned on her commanding officer, a glint in the marksman's eyes. "You're one to speak, _lieutenant_ ," she smirked. "We all know you still sleep with that stuffed toy of yours, but _I've_ figured out you've even named it." She stood from her seat, prancing about towards Faulk whilst spinning the Maverick in her hands. " _Shanny_ seems a bit strange of a name for a teddy bear, _dontcha think_?"

The Condor's cabin fell into laughter once again, and Victor couldn't help but follow with his own chortles as Black found her seat again. His CO, humiliated, sat back with a blank stare.

"How did you find out?"

The lieutenant holstered her favored sidearm, smirking at Faulk. "You talk in your sleep."

As if on cue, a light in the cabin blinked on, a green glare painting the dropship's occupant, a sudden jolt knocking more than few possessions around, their owners cursing. A voice called from the cockpit, the shuttle's door landing softly on a patch of grass outside.

"This is your stop, marines! Firebase Dorset, hick-town in all but name. Enjoy yourselves out there!"

Victor rose with the others, cradling his rifle gently. He had made some modifications to it since the… _incident_. Having elected himself the squad's grenadier, he found his new underslung launcher to be a bit cumbersome, but the young corporal was sure it'd come in handy, given a handy supply of high-explosive and smoke rounds.

Outside the shuttle, Victor realized that the army outpost – Firebase Dorset – appeared to be in much worse state than he would have thought. He was immediately met with a mess of an outer perimeter, thin razor-wire fencing atop several stacks of sand-filled gabions and concrete walls. Army troopers rushed this way and that way, the typically green markings on their armor scratched, mudded, and faded. Some looked relieved to see the marines, but most smirked, jeering this way and that way.

Every now and then, the various artillery placements of the firebase would belch fire, expended shells sparking red as their electrical charges dissipated. Ragged and ripped tents flapped in the hand, and the clearly hastily and shoddily constructed pre-fabs around the base were worn down, parts fallen away and even some sections missing entirely.

"What a mess," Victor heard Dunn mutter beside him, the large, dark-skinned man lugging his sizeable machine gun like it was nothing.

"Hey, Faulk?" Val asked, walking a yard or two in front of them. Their lieutenant, even further ahead, turned around.

"Something on your mind?"

"Yeah," the tech sergeant continued, nodding. "How'd the army fuck up so bad here? CLF's got no infrastructure, how're they still around?"

"They got reinforced," Faulk answered, moving to avoid a trio of army troopers. "Same HVT we've been chasing the past few months got here with half a fleet. That, and the colony already had a pretty sizeable rebel front."

Victor couldn't help but snort. "Turns out farmers don't like quotas from the Core." Val took a second to look back at him, frowning.

"Yeah, but they were just a few rebels, LT," she pressed, as the squad approached their destination. The command tent stood out – larger than the rest, and a silver eagle emblazoned its sides.

"'A few rebels' wouldn't have been able to capture an entire supply base, Black," the lieutenant shook his head. "No. But rumor has it the CLF's starting to get their shit together. They're getting organized, far quicker and at a much higher level than anyone would have thought."

"But that takes time!"

"They've been dug in," Faulk continued. "Guerilla activity across the planet, hiding amongst the civilians. Doesn't help the entire colony is behind them."

Dunn saw fit to speak. "That's unconfirmed."

"That may be so, Dunn, but think about it. Entire sections of rebels disappearing in the cities; supply stations and police armories raided, but no local eyewitnesses." The lieutenant turned back. "How does that sound to you?"

The larger man only offered one word in response. "Why?"

"Guess they didn't like the taxes."

"Taxes to pay for the war, el-tee," Valerie said in turn, the flaps of the base's command tent now open before them.

"Against the CLF themselves, Black."

"Fucking ironic."

"Ain't that the truth of it."

* * *

It was safe to say that Major Maria Capet, commander of all UER army units on her side of Emeraude City, was baffled.

Confused. Frustrated. Enflamed. Perhaps, even, furious.

When the 48-year old Earthborn heard that the Navy was _finally_ sending reinforcements, she was beyond relieved. Grassroots had become more of a mess than anyone could have anticipated – as if the CLF had turned one bloody eye on the already disillusioned colony and decided that it was to become the largest rebel front in years.

The rebels had become organized, _fast_. It wasn't the loss of one of the largest supply depots on the colony that had clued her in. No – it was their hardware. Even before the armory raids, before the blockade runners, her men had begun to report military-grade munitions and tech spread amongst the rebels. Skirmishes and small, isolated firefights had been turned upside down, and the usually roving bands of guerillas, hidden amongst the populace, had merged into entire units, complete with – if her recon teams weren't mistaken – organized and fully-fledged command structures.

The CLF fleet appearing in orbit, rag-tag as it was, had been the final nail in the coffin. The loss of Duty Station, along with all the military-grade hardware it stored? Inconsequential, considering all that had occurred before so.

So when _Battlegroup Autumn_ had arrived, clearing out what remained of the CLF fleet and landing its marines, even the grizzled Army officer could appreciate seeing the red frogmen amongst the Army's green.

Maria had _requested_ Rear Admiral Hackett simply bomb Duty Station from orbit – the supply base was heavily fortified, and garrisoned by what seemed like an entire battalion, or more, of rebels. The major wasn't willing to send men to assault such a base without sufficient air-support, and given the array of triple-A that the CLF had pulled from Duty's warehouses, anything short of _Zeus_ fighters was out of the question. Command was, initially unwilling to supply even those – the risk was too high. But the _Autumn_ 's arrival had changed everything.

Except, her request had been denied – no orbital bombardment, Hackett had refused. When pushed for a reason, he had simply stated that a unit of marines, led by a team of the SAU – the Corps' own premier shock troopers – would infiltrate the base. They were looking for intel.

 _Intel_ , of all things. Maria, an officer in the Army, had always been one to claim that the Corps never had its head screwed on right, but she thought that, in the wake of Grassroots' fall, even they would realize what was most important – burning the CLF from the beleaguered colony.

Apparently not.

Her thoughts were interrupted – the flaps of the command tent fluttered open, a pair of men walking in. One was clearly a flag officer of some sort, if the silver eagle on his shoulder meant anything. The other was a marine, but by the yellow trim of his armor rather than the red, he was clearly one of the shock troopers Hackett had supplied.

Well, _supplied_ was, perhaps, the wrong term. Regardless, she straightened herself, hands clasped behind her back.

"Major Capet," the marine officer nodded, mirroring her actions. The trooper beside him saluted, helmet still on. "Colonel Leonard Molina. It's good to meet you."

"Likewise, Colonel," Maria responded. "You lead the marines from the _Alphonse_?"

The _Alphonse_ – one of the ships from Battlegroup Autumn, and one of those few that had offloaded its marine contingent. Good reinforcements – they were the scalpel to Maria's hammer, or so she was told.

"Correct Major, though I've been given command of _all_ of Autumn's marines planet-side, for the time being," Molina qualified. Maria turned her attention to the marine beside him.

"Lieutenant Jonathan Faulk, 45th SAU, ma'am," the trooper said. The major motioned with her hand, and Faulk dropped his salute. "Ma'am, are you aware of my team's role here?"

She nodded, frowning. "I have, Lieutenant. I don't like it, but I am aware."

"Is there an issue, Major?" Molina asked, head askew. A quick glance at the colonel's uniform showed that it was clean, crisp, and pressed – she figured that, given the circumstances of the colony, it would remain so for not much longer.

"Just personal misgivings, Colonel," Maria answered. She took a deep breath, moving an errant strand of hair aside with a muddied thumb. She turned back to Faulk. "I'm not exactly sure what it is your team is looking for, Lieutenant, but I have been ordered to provide support…"

She trailed off, shaking her head. Maria didn't like being kept in the dark – it was how good men and women died without good cause – but bits and pieces of _Autumn_ 's mission stank of operational security well above her role. The major had already decided she didn't like the situation, not at all.

"Ma'am?" The shock trooper queried, leaning a slight bit forwards.

"Apologies, Lieutenant." Maria realized she had left the two marine officers waiting. "From what I've been told, my men will be staging an assault on Duty Station, down in the river valley."

A squat, wide table had sat between the two parties, and with a wave of Maria's hand, its surface lit alight with a blue glow. Off-white grids formed squares, neatly patterned across a holographic map that slowly materialized. A yellow dot, glowing bright, sat in the corner closest to her left, and to its north-east a mess of red, centered in a shallow valley. Firebase Dorset and their target – Duty Station.

Further still was a city, its buildings quite tall indeed. Red and yellow glows shifted in and out like a menagerie of jewels, and a name, embossed in the light of holograms:

 _Emeraude City_.

Grassroots' planetary capital torn apart by the fiercest of fighting. Last she had heard, the city's UER presence was still strong – possibly waning, but still strong – but strength did not abate the constant danger of urban ambushes and bomb threats. The Army had, hence, moved its headquarters to a nearby airfield, set up as a temporary, if not dysfunctional, spaceport.

"Since the rebels captured it," Maria continued, "Duty Station has been heavily fortified. Every day, more insurgents stream in and out by convoy. The CLF have turned it into their own 'home away from home,' and given its proximity to Emeraude, they've been threatening our control on the capital."

"Strength of opposition, ma'am?" the lieutenant asked. His helmet was still tight on his head – Maria didn't like how she couldn't see the trooper's face behind the polarized visor.

"They've got it garrisoned at all times – at least several companies' worth, up to a battalion," the major answered. "Trenches, bunkers, perimeter walls lined with barbed wire – they've got it heavily fortified."

"The real stickler though," Maria continued, eyeing the two marine officers. Molina watched the holo-table between them with intent, eyes nearly glued to Duty Station's location. "They've pulled some old, moth-balled triple A out of storage. Old, but they still work just fine – we nearly lost a flight of attack craft the other day."

"No air-support?" Faulk sounded worried, and rightly so – any soldier worth their weight valued fire-support beyond measure, whether by air or by ground. Maria shook her head.

"Not unless you take those guns out."

The command tent fell into silence, the three officers weighing their options. Inwardly, Maria cursed her lack of personnel – Firebase Dorset was home chiefly home to infantry and artillery units, limiting her strategic options. She _did_ have a couple of mechanized teams under her belt, but…

Rangers would have been nice, dedicated sniper units even better. Given the nature of the valley – rough, rocky terrain and shallow streams and cliffsides – mechanized infantry would have been useless, but those same cliffs, those same river-side slicks, would have supplied trained sniper teams with prime positioning and sightlines.

Too bad command had seen fit to hog all the specialist units. Not even a single team of rangers had been placed under Maria's command.

"I've got something. Check it out." It was Colonel Molina, leaning forwards on the holo-table. His fingers traced its surface, drawing lines across the blue "sand."

"Major," Molina began, briefly glancing up at Maria. "Confirm these emplacements for me. Two lines of walls along the base's perimeter. A trench between them, and above and behind the inner walls – they've set up bunkers and gun nests. Affirm?"

"That's correct, Colonel," Maria was curious what the marine officer had seen.

The man placed an index finger on the map – at the south-eastern corner of Duty Station was a set of buildings, nestled at the edge of the base. They were… conspicuously close to the walls and fortifications, minimal space between them and the inner walls.

What more, the rebels had placed their cluster of anti-aircraft guns nearby – on the other side of those very buildings, cut through by courtyards and more bunkers.

"Any idea on what these buildings are, Major?"

Maria did, indeed, have an answer for him. "Apartment buildings. Quarters for the base's old garrison. Three towers, each six stories tall. CLF looks to have left them vacant – too close to the perimeter.

Her eyes traced the south-eastern corner of the supply base – little holographic trees had sprung up on the map, dense. Between them ran what looked to be a stream, zig-zagging throughout the foliage.

"Plenty of hard-cover," the colonel continued, his gaze now falling on the lieutenant beside him. "Not enough space for the defenders to maneuver – not quickly, anyways." He turned back to Maria. "And easy access to their triple A. Major, how mobile can your men be?"

"Not mobile enough," Maria answered quickly. "But we do have a platoon's worth of mechanized infantry. Otherwise, we're limited to light vehicles and transports."

Molina nodded, satisfied with her response. "That's gotta be good enough."

"Got a plan, sir?" Faulk asked, having been silent.

"The beginnings of one, yes." The colonel motioned towards the table. "Lieutenant, I'm embedding your team with my marines. That corner of the base – they're weaker there. Good enough for an assault at night, and your team will lead."

"Any support to our name, sir?"

Molina thought for a moment, a finger, brushing against his chin. "Mortar teams. Flares for illumination, once you cross that trench. Artillery support from Dorset will be limited, though," he answered. "Get through those walls and take those apartments, Lieutenant. Establish a zone of control, and take out those guns."

"And my men, Colonel?" Maria interjected. Wind blew into the tent, and her eyes stung for just a moment. "You'll need help."

He nodded. "Our assault will begin when your units are mounted up and in position. I've been told planetary command's supplying Zeus craft for our mission?"

"Yeah. Won't be able to help until those guns are down, though."

"Got it." The marine officer eyed Maria, smiling. "Major, when those guns are down, I need your men to push in. We'll set up fire missions along the perimeter before-hand. Encircle them. Trap them," the man closed his eyes. "With any luck, the Lieutenant and his team will have enough cover to take the base, find what they need."

Faulk nodded. "Yessir."

"This evening, at twenty-one hundred hours," Molina said, straightening again. The holotable switched off, its contents slowly draining away. "We'll go over the details. Force projection, unit designations, operational security – all of that."

Maria nodded, sniffing once. "I'll get all my section leads in. Tent might not be big enough, though."

"Marines make do, Major."

* * *

 **The Citadel; Zakera Ward**

 _ **Dark Star Lounge**_

 **12:25 PM, Earth Standard Clock**

She kept her promise.

Caelia Paros, formerly a combat medic in the Turian Marines, and then a medical contractor for the Citadel Exploratory Initiative onboard the _Talessia_ , kept her promise to Taelon Jorrahe, and stayed on the Citadel.

Close to Arysa, their old captain. Close enough to keep an eye on their friend. Close enough to help.

Close enough to stop her from making a mistake.

Since their… _incident_ at Relay 314, the crew of the _Talessia_ had disbanded. Their ship was refitted, their team reassigned following psychological evaluation. The Initiative had deemed Arysa too unstable, too emotionally broken, to continue leading her crew.

Caelia… could not blame them. Not after what had happened.

They had tried to give her – _Arysa_ – time. Time to recover, time to think, and time enough to know that what she had done to that man, the _human_ , was necessary.

Horrible, perhaps. Non-consensual, a decision made knowingly by one side and one side only. But necessary. Or they'd all be dead – maybe – and the future of the galaxy might never have been the same.

But horrible all the same to Arysa.

So they had disbanded. They had all gone their own ways, drifting to the solar wind. Pontius had retired to some turian colony on the fringe, with plenty of time to think, and plenty of silence to fill it.

Paell and Niana, their engineers, were gone, fled to Illium to start their own firm. No regulations, no laws, no restrictions – she worried for the two, Caelia did. But, in all honesty, one _could_ say that they had eloped. After all, the two were nigh inseparable. It surprised no one.

Taelon had also left. Reluctant, unsure, uncertain. But when the Special Tasks Group came calling, no salarian in their right mind would refuse. Caelai wasn't sure when she'd see him again, especially now that he'd gone off to join the STG. But before he left, he made her make a promise.

It was an easy promise to make – Caelia hadn't any idea where she might go, anyways. Her parents were… _estranged_ , one could say, and her sister, Veera, was still serving with the Hierarchy.

So, Caelia had kept her promise, and she had stayed on the Citadel. Her apartment sat close by to her captain's, dredged up to sheer coincidence in a passing conversation. But Caelia knew better – and so did Arysa.

Her friend needed help, and by the Spirits, she would keep it. Even if Arysa refused herself.

Of course, with the passing of the _Talessia_ 's crew, Caelia Paros had been left unemployed. In truth, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she supposed it was to be something medical. A combat medic, a ship's doctor – that was what the turian from Invictus knew.

Though, in truth, she wasn't to be unemployed for long. She had scheduled a job interview at the Asharia Memorial Hospital tomorrow. A nurse in the trauma wards – they valued her experience in combat, and that was that.

But Caelia worried for Arysa – the matron was… _stubborn_ , and their scant conversations had fallen to passing small-talk and whispers. Of course, it was a bit frustrating – the Citadel bore home to millions of people of all species, and even a few humans had begun to trickle onto the center of galactic life. But Arysa wouldn't speak to one – and barely even spoke to her own friend.

That fact, however, didn't help – or so Caelia figured. Every human Arysa had seen, she cowered from. Every marine from the republic, the once-gregarious matron ignored.

Was the asari being overly dramatic? Possibly. Possibly not. Caelia could not say that she knew, exactly, how Arysa felt. Perhaps on a superficial level, but certainly not deep within.

But she wanted to help – wanted _so_ bad to keep the other end of her promise to Taelon. Arysa had once been a bright star in the turian's life – outgoing. Unreserved, energetic, exciting – she was all that Caelia _wanted_ to be. But she had retreated into a shell.

That shell was, according to some of her contacts (though, Caelia admitted, _contacts_ gave them more of an air of mystery and subversion than bartenders and mutual neighbors should ever be accounted for, but it sounded cooler), the _Dark Star Lounge._ Zakera Ward, right by their apartments in fact. Caelia knew that Arysa would retreat deep into the bar, away from prying eyes, and simply drink her troubles away.

That ended soon. Caelia would find Arysa, and they'd talk. Arysa, she knew, needed help. Wanted help, though perhaps she wouldn't admit it. She knew it'd take time – especially as her medical certifications rarely covered the psychological effects of…

Well, _that_ …

But Arysa needed help, and Caelia was the only one there to help her.

She'd kept her promise to Taelon, and she'd keep her promise to Taelon.

* * *

 **Eden Prime; Utopia System; Exodus Cluster**

 _ **Eden Technical** **Institute**_

 **0830 Hours**

Doctor Agosto Rivers was, for all intents and purposes, annoyed.

Peeved. Vexed. Irked. Or just plain old annoyed.

How long had the Good Doctor worked on those eezo samples? How many sleepless nights had he spent uncovering their secrets, exposing himself to dangerous levels of radiation for two meager lines of data?

And yes, he'd call it eezo, Leah's ass be damned.

He thought it'd be worth it, in the end – all of that work, all of those answers, paltry as they were, would build and build and build upon each other until he had uncovered what he, not two months before, believed would be a breakthrough in physics and physical academia.

A breakthrough in more than one way, of course; eezo itself broke, _shattered,_ the very laws that Isaac Newton himself had splayed out like the biblical commandments themselves. Oh, how _excited_ he had been to be that Newton, that Curie, that Einstein.

But it wasn't to be so. The secrets of Element Zero were just… handed over. Shared, just like that, through First Contact. He'd be lying if a vase or two hadn't been broken in more than one place, but he'd tell Leah it was her cat. One of the three.

Jorge. He'd blame Jorge. Little tabby had never liked him anyways.

Regardless, "Agi" supposed, it wasn't all lost. Sure, Leah's rat had bravely sacrificed his life for naught but a whisker; sure, he'd exposed himself to dangerous levels of unknown radiation for absolutely no reason. But none of that mattered in the end, did it? Agi did it learn – he did it to create, to develop, and he did it all for one thing above all.

For science.

Well that, and the removal of Element Zero from his "little" to-do list had left something… _more important_ on his palate. More important for the Republic in its entirety rather than "just" him, for sure, but still nevertheless important.

A little whirlwind of beeps and boops caught his ear, and Agi stuffed a hand into a coat-pocket, and brought it back with a companion. A lover. A mobile communicator.

Oh. Speak of the devil – perhaps more literally than he might have intended.

"Admiral Ishimura, what a pleasure! How can I—"

" _Doctor Rivers. I need an update on Project Caen._ "

The Good Doctor recoiled, a rush of annoyance flowing through his veins. "Finally give it a name, huh? About time." he muttered.

" _Doctor._ "

He sighed, thankful that ORI's director had chosen a simple voice-call. More discreet, more easily encrypted – fitting for someone of her… _stature._

"Admiral, my team's progress on Project Caen remains unchanged since last we spoke," the physicist answered glumly. "The stealth technology ORI has requisitioned requires too much power for our fusion reactors. We'd have to upscale the corvette's size by a factor of five. It'd no longer be a corvette, but a destroyer – maybe even a light cruiser!"

" _Is that what it takes?_ "

Agi ran a hand through his dark, chestnut hair, lightly scratching his scalp. "No, because it'd completely defeat the purpose of a _stealth_ ship. The amount of power produced would outweigh _any_ attempt to hide its emissions, not to mention the fact that a _cruiser_ is much more easily seen than a _corvette_."

High-heeled footsteps from behind caught the doctor's ear, and before he could turn a pair of lily-white arms wrapped around his chest, a kiss lightly placed on his neck. He couldn't help but shiver, as Doctor Jojic's slender form pressed tightly into his.

" _Doctor Rivers, as Lead of Echelon Five, I expect you to understand that the completion of Project Caen's development supersedes_ any _other assignments that you may possess,_ " Mary Ishimura's soft, yet ice-cold voice _also_ sent shivers down Agi's spine. A sole finger placed at his lips, the doctor gave his peer a glance at the call's details. Leah's eyes widened, and she nodded, stepping back. " _Especially now that the Republic, for the most part, no longer requires your_ premier _services regarding Element Zero._ "

"Ma'am, I fully understand the—"

" _I wasn't aware that I was done speaking, Doctor Rivers_."

Agi frowned. "My apologies, Admiral."

" _As I was saying, doctor – I am… dissatisfied with the lack of progress on Project Caen. However, I also understand that, at the moment, I am asking you to move a mountain_ ," Ishimura said. " _So, what do you need to complete Project Caen?_ "

"Ma'am?"

" _Do I really need to repeat myself? Doctor Rivers, what do you need so you may move forwards with Project Caen? Resources? Money? Personnel?_ "

"… _I hope you won't ask for live test subjects, Doctor Rivers_."

Agi recoiled in disgust. "With all due respect Admiral, I lead Echelon Five, _not_ Echelon Six."

Admiral Ishimura didn't respond, but he didn't expect her to. The doctor thought to himself for a moment, stumped – what more could we want? Money wasn't a question – his team already possessed a budget six times as large as their closest peers, and they still had plenty left over, given the passing of the Eezo project. And, for the most part, he _didn't_ care to meet new people, new personne. He was already settled with his team of twenty – he knew them all, cared for them all, and that was only after years upon years of continuous work with them.

Agosto Rivers was an exceptionally difficult man to work with, he himself would admit, but given time, he cared for those under his lead, as Doctor Jojic herself would attest to. He turned back for a moment, seeing her smile cheerfully with a sample of Element Zero, safe in a transparent cylinder, in her hands.

Yes – he cared greatly for Leah, even as she handled eezo with such blasé—

Wait. Yes! That was it! He raised a thumb in thanks, turning back to his call. He did _not_ want to keep Mary Ishimura herself waiting.

Eezo – his team had found that Element Zero's capabilities were, in a sense, _endless_ , or so it seemed. After all, it broke the very laws of physics themselves, possessing in and of itself no mass to speak of, hence the name.

Yet, supplied an electrical charge, the element produced a field of dark energy. Within that field, an object's mass could be raised – a baseball might fall with the force of a bowling ball, for example, or a bullet might impact as if it were an artillery shell.

Or, should an object's mass be _reduced_ in turn, a cargo hauler could become as light as a hoverbike; an ingot of titanium-1 alloy, as easy to throw as a shoe.

And, should a fusion reactor be supplemented with such capabilities, it could produce power far beyond its normative potential. Of course, the sheer magnitude of Element Zero required was indescribable, in both cost and weight of gram, but _theoretically_ , it'd never have to be replaced – only maintained. Carefully, oh so carefully – the consequences of something going wrong could be drastic.

But worth it.

"Admiral?" he returned to his call, happy to see that he had only left the director of the Office of Republic Intelligence herself on hold for a scant five minutes.

" _Doctor_?" Ishimura's voice was laced with impatience.

"The aliens of the Citadel," Agi began. "Do we know how their ships work? How they draw power?"

The call was silent for a few moments – Ishimura was undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion he and Leah had.

"… _Not yet, no,_ " she answered. " _I suspect a breakthrough is imminent_?"

"Yes, yes, I do believe it is," the doctor chittered, blinking hard once, twice. "Admiral, can I… make a request?"

" _Go ahead, Doctor Rivers._ "

"All of the Element Zero we can find – the Republic needs to catalogue every deposit, every source. Eezo has become so much more important to us than simply a trade resource with the Council. We need to begin hoarding it. All of it."

" _I'll relay your request, Doctor._ _Until next we speak_."

The call disconnected – just like that. The Director was never one to make a gracious exit. Agi pocketed the comms device, turning around to meet Doctor Jojic's bottle-green eyes.

"Gather the team, Leah. We need to start preparing."

A quick kiss, on the lips this time. Agi felt a hint of sticky lipstick left behind.

"Looking forward to it, Doctor Rivers."

* * *

 **A/N: It's been a while. Turns out, a constant flow of research papers and writing of a more technical nature kinda kills your will to... actually write. Even creatively. I'm back though. Should be for now.**

 **I began this chapter last year - June 2018, to be exact. I finished it... today. So, suffice to say, you guys might see a difference in writing. You might not. Who knows.**

 **Regardless, hope you guys enjoyed. Feel free to leave reviews with your thoughts. I want them. Badly. Please.**


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